


Once in a Blue Moon

by orphan_account



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alpha!Athos, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Bitten!d'Artagnan, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hiding in Plain Sight, Hunter!Milady, M/M, No one does Platonic Relationships anymore, Pack Dynamics, Pack Family, Past Athos/Milady - Freeform, Past Porthos/Flea, Platonic Romance, Protectiveness, Shapeshifting, Slow Build, Soul Bond, Wolf!Aramis, Wolf!Porthos, Wolves living amongst Humans, because seriously, rival packs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-10 16:42:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 46,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2032302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*NOTE: ON HIATUS*</p><p>Werewolves were just stories to keep young d’Artagnan in his bed at night. That is, until an Alpha bit him and turned his world upside down. d’Artagnan makes his way toward Paris with his father’s dying words buzzing in his head. There, he meets Athos, an Alpha of a pack living among the Musketeers.  As if learning to live as a wolf wasn’t enough, d’Artagnan is whisked into a world of pack rivalry, soul mates, and wolf hunters.  </p><p>So much for living a quiet life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please note, this story is on hiatus for the moment. Reason being: I am rewriting the plot of the story. The original plot was boring and cliche, and I'd rather give my readers a creative and new experience than a finished lackluster novel. I hope you'll understand.  
> \--  
> Not all chapters will be this short. I just wanted to get the idea out there and see if anyone was interested. I have three chapters written out and five planned at the moment. 
> 
> Word count: 2,112

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> d’Artagnan didn’t anticipate the low growl over to his left or his sword snapping in half with a clamp of yellow fangs. However, he did expect falling into the hay as the dog like animal shot forward, a paw the size of his palm pressed on his chest. He stared into the black pools this creature called eyes and noticed his stunned expression reflecting in them. The dog – no, it was too large to be a dog – seemed to smile at him, its jaw widening as it let out two pants. d’Artagnan’s eyes darted over to his right where his sword lay in half. He stretched out his hand to try and grab the hilt; the tips of his fingers brushed the edge of the swirling metal. The animal’s eyes darted from the blade back to d’Artagnan. Its paw pressed into d’Artagnan’s sternum; he definitely felt some bruises form beneath its weight.
> 
> “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the creature said without moving its jaw.
> 
>  
> 
> Or:  
> d'Artagnan has an unexpected guest who doesn't know how to make friends

Of all days d’Artagnan could’ve picked to double check the stables, it _had_ to be today.

The scent of blood overpowered his nostrils as he crept past the barn doors.  His breath swirled about his head; the air sent shivers down his spine.  His heartbeat kept even with the tapping of a window shutter above the hay loft.  He drew his sword; the scrape upon the scabbard rang out, and he prepared for anything.

Well, perhaps anything was too strong a word.

d’Artagnan didn’t anticipate the low growl over to his left or his sword snapping in half with a clamp of yellow fangs. However, he did expect falling into the hay as the dog like animal shot forward, a paw the size of his palm pressed on his chest.  He stared into the black pools this creature called eyes and noticed his stunned expression reflecting in them.  The dog – no, it was too large to be a dog – seemed to smile at him, its jaw widening as it let out two pants.  d’Artagnan’s eyes darted over to his right where his sword lay in half.  He stretched out his hand to try and grab the hilt; the tips of his fingers brushed the edge of the swirling metal. The animal’s eyes darted from the blade back to d’Artagnan. Its paw pressed into d’Artagnan’s sternum; he definitely felt some bruises form beneath its weight.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the creature said without moving its jaw. 

d’Artagnan opened his mouth to speak but found his voice empty.  The animal appeared to roll its eyes and lashed its muzzle down toward d’Artagnan’s throat.  The latter used his upper body strength to slide his torso to the right.  His fingertips pulled the sword closer.  The movement caused his attacker to miss its target. Its teeth sunk into d’Artagnan’s shoulder.  The boy let out a light gasp as teeth ripped through his flesh.  His hand wrapped around the blade’s hilt.  Without allowing the animal to let go of his shoulder, he propelled his sword upward.  The blunt-tipped blade shifted through black fur and hit soft skin.  The creature reared its head back in shock, but d’Artagnan ran the sharp edge of his blade across the animal’s stomach before it could react. Blood splattered over him as the beast staggered away.  Its eyes clouded as it took one final step and collapsed.

The only sound in d’Artagnan’s ear was the pounding of his heart and the rasping from his throat.  He sat up as the pain from the bite hit him. The world tilted underneath his feet, and he placed a firm hand to the ground.  Red blood saturated his clothes, creating a soupy mix of the beast’s and his own.  Terror never set in until he noticed the lack of the animal’s corpse in front of him. Instead, a shaggy haired man with a gash running from his stomach to his collar bone lay before him.  His brown eyes stared up at the ceiling.  d’Artagnan did his best to crawl over to the man without falling in the red puddle pooling around the both of them.

Those eyes turned to him, and d’Artagnan jumped backward two steps.  The man’s lips curved into a smile before he closed his eyes, one final breath echoing throughout d’Artagnan’s head.  d’Artagnan held his shoulder as he stood; the world still spun beneath his feet.  He staggered out of the wooden doors, his hand catching the door frame for support.

That’s when he heard his father’s scream from inside the house.  d’Artagnan’s blood chilled as he forced his legs forward.  His knuckles turned white from gripping the blade.  As he crossed the grass to his house, he noticed the door lay shattered on the floor.  His head turned as a crash of something glass echoed from another room.  d’Artagnan’s heart pounded in his ears, his shoulder numb from fresh adrenaline, and he raced through the house toward his father’s room.  He could no longer hear his father’s voice, but he did catch the same growl from the barn.  He halted and pressed his back against the wall.  Paws thumped against the floorboards every time it took d’Artagnan’s heart to beat twice. The lad watched a black muzzle protrude from the door frame before another creature emerged from his father’s room. It made its way past him, its ears perked up high and its eyes locked ahead. d’Artagnan watched the black tail disappear out into the cold air.  He exhaled to allow fresh air into his lungs and turned the corner to his father’s room.

His father’s body lay on the floor, and d’Artagnan teetered to his father’s side.  Shaking legs knelt down to cradle the only family he had left in his arms.  His father wheezed as he reached up to cradle d’Artagnan’s cheek.  His eyes then fell upon his son’s shoulder, and they widened.  Trembling hands brushed up against his son’s fresh wound, and d’Artagnan stopped himself from flinching.

“I’m fine,” d’Artagnan said and put his hand on his father’s.  His father shook his head and swallowed whatever remained in his throat. His lips parted and allowed gasps to try and stock his lungs with air.  He whispered something, and d’Artagnan lowered his head to hear his father better.  It sounded like a name stealing the last of his father’s breath.  Three times his father whispered the same phrase to him, his voice growing weaker after each word. Then, with a heavy sigh, his father fell still.

d’Artagnan let out a choked sob as he pressed his forehead to his father’s cheek.  At the exact same moment, he heard the creature pour its heart out into a broken howl.  He stood up; his father’s limp body cradled in his arms, and made his way out into the frigid air. His shoulder throbbed as he placed his father on the ground.  The night around him darkened until he realized his eyes slipped shut.

* * *

 

Tiny fragments of light escaped the trees leaves and rested on d’Artagnan’s eyes.  While small, it woke the lad from a dead sleep.  The world no longer spun, but his clothes reminded him of the night he endured.  d’Artagnan pushed as much of his black hair out of his face as he could.  He remained oblivious to his prior wound until his hand reached his temple. The bitten shoulder no longer throbbed with pain.  He pulled the shirt away, where teeth marks definitely broke the fabric around his shoulder, and noticed only scabs replacing the bite. He saw no discoloration or redness around the wound, and he let out a sigh of relief.  At least a fever would not be claiming his life. His brown eyes darted around the clearing, but he did not see either one of the dog like creatures that attacked them the night before.  The air contained a few songs from the birds and shifted as the neighboring woodland animals scurried about.

His father’s corpse remained the only evidence he was truly alone.  d’Artagnan felt his stomach drop as the duty to bury his father settled on his shoulders.  His weight increased tenfold as he staggered over toward the barn.  His horse’s panicked noises filtered through the still ajar barn door.  He made his way toward the barn, and the smell of blood hit him harder than the night prior.  He covered his nose to stifle a gag that escaped his lips as bile rushed to the back of his mouth. Drag marks stretched out into the dew covered grass, and he assumed the other animal pulled its companion to safety – or more likely to bury him.

His horse stomped and pawed at the ground.  Hay shifted about as the stallion paced the space of his stall.  d’Artagnan strode to its side and held up his hands.

“Easy there,” he said and reached out a hand. The horse let out a whinny and reared back, its eyes wide. d’Artagnan took a step back as the stallion’s hooves crashed back to the ground.  It strode in a complete circle before d’Artagnan was able to put a hand on its muzzle.  It drew its head back but calmed as the lad stroked its nose.  Harsh pants turned into soft breaths as it stared into the eyes of its rider.  d’Artagnan whispered as he pet the mighty black horse, his hands gliding from its nose and down to its neck. Upon a quick inspection, he noticed no wounds on its flank or shoulders. 

Once the stallion was calm, he grabbed the shovel propped up against the wall and made his way into the wet grass. The sun barely peeked over the tall trees as if it did not want to relieve the world from the cold.  d’Artagnan put all his weight into forcing the shovel through dirt and stone, and he hoisted the first milestone toward his father’s funeral.  Minutes turned into an hour as he burrowed further into the earth. His vision blurred and forced the process to go slower as he paused to clear his eyes.

The hole finally deep enough for his liking, d’Artagnan placed his father down into the ground.  With a sigh and a heavy heart, he said a quick prayer before spilling the dirt back onto his father’s body.  The earth burst alive as birds flew overhead to try and break up the silence.  The sun burned high in the sky by the time d’Artagnan finished his father’s funeral.  He strode back to the barn and saddled up the stallion.  With a quick mount, the Gascon boy urged the horse forward through the barren roads.  Only one thought rested on his mind as the sound of horse hooves echoed through the woods - his father’s final words - find Athos.

* * *

 

No matter how hard he scratched, d’Artagnan couldn’t silence the itch in his shoulder.  He growled as his fingernails broke away the scab on his shoulder, and blood dripped onto his shirt. The Gascon put his hands back on the reigns and locked his fingers into place.  At least the pain doused the annoyance for a while.

His father’s words plagued d’Artagnan’s mind.  His father mentioned this Athos once when he was younger. d’Artagnan spent the last two days digging up memories for any information.  From what he recalled, the man was a musketeer that stopped by the farm a few months ago. He spoke to his father about a business agreement d’Artagnan failed to listen to. He scolded his younger self as the streets of Paris came into view.

People walked in all different directions.  Conversations buzzed throughout air as people bought goods from others.  Children chased after a chicken, laughing as if someone tickled them with feathers.  The air smelled sour, but d’Artagnan supposed he would grow used to it.  A thought sprung into his mind: where was the Musketeer garrison?  A sigh escaped his lips as he jumped off his horse.  His nerves remained idle as the Gascon walked through the streets.

“You look lost,” a feminine voice said beside him. d’Artagnan turned his head and spotted a young woman standing by a group of shoppers.  She flicked her head to throw a lock of brown hair from her face and strolled over to him. Her arms cradled a basket filled with fabrics of assorted colors.  d’Artagnan stopped and eyed the woman over.

“Just passing through,” he said.

The woman crinkled her brow and shifted the weight in her arms. “Obviously.”  The word hovered between them for a moment.  She turned away, muttering about men’s refusal to ask for directions. d’Artagnan took in a breath before chasing her.  She turned as the horse’s hooves clopped behind her and scowled. “What?”

d’Artagnan froze and clenched his jaw. “Forget it,” he said and turned away. His chest grew hot as he quickened his pace away from her. Her eyebrows knitted together as her voice calmed.

“No really.” She followed him, and he took in a rushed breath.

 “What is it with you? First you want to help, then you don’t.”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

d’Artagnan snuffed. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

“I never said-“ She rolled her eyes. “Just go.”

They held each other’s eyes before d’Artagnan stepped away.  His mind raced with bitter thoughts, and he quickened his pace.  The feral growl from last night, albeit much softer, reached his ear.  He halted and cast a glance everywhere; his hand flew to his sword’s hilt.  No creatures lined his vision or bothered the civilians around him.  He took in a deep breath and continued walking, blaming his sudden action on nerves.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something swirled about in the breeze, and Athos’s stomach knotted. He stood up from his reclined position on the table. The man opened his mouth but didn’t produce any words. Athos looked toward the opening of the garrison and took in a deep tasted the air. A mix of anger and confusion meshed with a slight spice of pine needles. Porthos and Aramis quieted as well, their eyes locking on Athos’s rigid composure.
> 
>  
> 
> Or:
> 
> d'Artagnan engages in a fight and finds he bit off more than he can chew. Athos isn't drunk enough for this, and Aramis and Porthos aren't helping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last, we're adding more characters to the story. I tried not to follow the first episode too closely, but their meeting is generally the same. And I'm not sure what you think of when you hear the word "werewolf" (there's so many different interpretations I don't know which one is the real legend) so I ran with my idea of a werewolf. More shall be explained on werewolf dynamics as the story progresses.
> 
> Word count: 3,767

“We’ll talk about this later, Athos.”

Words of his Captain echoed through his head as Athos walked onto the deck.  He huffed through his nose and closed the door behind him. The Captain’s footsteps paced over to the door, but after a moment’s pause, they disappeared in the other direction. Athos’s heart relaxed in his chest.  He hated arguing with the man, but he couldn’t ignore this.  Something strange stirred in the forest near Paris; he could feel it in his bones  He’d smelled strange wolves near the city before, but never so large a number in one area, and not so many at the same time.  Convincing the Captain something was wrong without giving away his secret was like describing sound to a deaf person. 

Athos’s ears picked up familiar voices below him, shattering his thoughts. A peek over the railing explained who they belonged to.  The elder man descended down the stairs and kept his gaze trained on the two in the middle of the barren courtyard. 

“Admit it. You were jealous.”

“I don’t get jealous.”

“Oh, your wine colored cheeks say otherwise, my friend.”

Athos leaned back against a table and gripped the edge with his palms.  His blue eyes followed the two dueling musketeers in front of him; his lips pulled into a thin line.  Somewhere between their words, they ended up chasing each other around in circles.  Athos rolled his eyes and sighed.  He peered through his scruffy black bangs and watched the two dodge and weave about the yard.

“You may be faster, Aramis, but Porthos is stronger.”

Aramis glanced over and barely missed an outstretched hand. “Thanks for the support.”

“No problem.” Athos watched Aramis’s footing slip and he fell onto his back.  Hands reached down and yanked Aramis up by the shirt; his hat fell off his head and rested in the dirt.  In the blink of an eye, his neck was swallowed by strong arms and knuckles dug into his scalp.  Aramis yelped and gripped Porthos’s arm around him.  His torso squirmed as he attempted to pull himself out.

“Give up yet?” Porthos asked.  Aramis grunted and let out a sharp laugh.

“Not until you admit I’m right.”

Something swirled about in the breeze, and Athos’s stomach knotted.  He stood up from his reclined position on the table.  The man opened his mouth but didn’t produce any words.   Athos looked toward the opening of the garrison and took in a deep tasted the air.  A mix of anger and confusion meshed with a slight spice of pine needles.  Porthos and Aramis quieted as well, their eyes locking on Athos’s rigid composure.

“You smell that?” Porthos asked and released Aramis’s head. The younger reached down and grabbed his hat without a word.

“No, I like staring at nothing,”

Porthos made a face behind his back. Aramis walked away from Porthos to stand by Athos.

“It doesn’t smell like anyone from the Court Pack.” He took in the scent twice to reassure his words.

“No.” Athos watched a boy walk into the garrison; his horse trailed behind him.  Porthos strode to Athos’s side and let out a growl. It wasn’t threatening, but it did make the lad tense. His brown eyes glanced between the three of them. The horse halted at the entrance, and the boy put a hand on the hilt of his sword.

“I’m looking for Athos.”

Athos felt the two musketeers tense beside him. “I am he.”

The news froze the boy in his tracks. His eyebrows knitted together as brown eyes locked onto Athos’s blue ones. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it, and tried again.

“You were the one my father spoke of?” Athos raised an eyebrow. “Alexander d’Artagnan. Does the name sound familiar?”

Athos tilted his head to the side a bit.  The fog in his memory dissipated as a face clicked to the name. “Yes, I know him.”

d’Artagnan drew his sword. Athos stared at the sight in front of him, his lips pulled into a straight line. Before Athos could speak another word, d’Artagnan lurched forward. Athos drew his own sword in time to parry the younger’s blow. He retreated slowly as d’Artagnan swung time after time. The musketeer’s ears picked up the rapid heartbeat as d’Artagnan’s scent dripped with adrenaline. For at least a minute, he allowed the young Gascon to barrage him with attacks. Athos’s arms began to tingle from holding their locked positions.  The metal reverberated through his chest, messing with his calm intake of breath.  The fight dragged on longer than he’d hoped, so Athos struck back.  His strength overpowered d’Artagnan in less than a few seconds, and he pinned the lad against a pole.  The two battled each other for the deadliest stare before Athos growled.

“Are you quite finished?”

d’Artagnan’s eyes remained fastened to him.  Athos stepped back but kept his attention trained on the younger.  After a few heartbeats, Athos turned, walked away, and sheathed his sword. d’Artagnan sucked in a breath before charging toward him again. 

Athos heard his name as he turned.  Everything slowed as d’Artagnan came toward him.  His hand caught d’Artagnan’s throat as if he walked up to the musketeer. Athos’s once blue eyes shifted to gold. He extended his jaw to reveal sharp canines and a roar rumbled throughout the courtyard.  d’Artagnan’s eyes grew as he went limp in Athos’s grip.  Once finished, Athos pushed the boy away and backed up; his eyes returned to normal. d’Artagnan’s shocked expression burned in his brain. He cursed under his breath as guilt welled up in his chest.  He caught the smell of chestnuts entering the garrison, but eyes remained focused on d’Artagnan as he spoke.

“Perfect timing as always, Constance.”

The girl glowered before kneeling down beside d’Artagnan.  The Gascon jumped as she gripped his shoulders; his eyes lingered on Athos as if someone glued his gaze.  d’Artagnan’s mind buzzed with the same hum in his ears. Nothing he thought about the past two days prepared him for that.  Why on earth had such a simple act paralyzed him so?  It was as if he were a young child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and punishment loomed around the corner.  His heartbeat evened out in his chest as a warm sort of feeling overcame him.  Somewhere between his thoughts, he stood, and someone began to help support his weight.

“I saw the tenderfoot in the city earlier and followed him. Can’t you men have a civilized conversation for once instead of killing each other?”

Athos tipped his head back a bit. “I was defending myself.”

“And that makes it right?” She examined d’Artagnan over and sighed. “He’s shaking. You’re lucky no one was around to see what happened. You nearly blew your cover.”

Aramis shook his head. “Constance, really-“

“And you two are just as bad! How could you let that happen?” Constance turned her attention to Porthos and Aramis, who were both amused and bewildered at the same time. Athos spoke, his voice calm.

“I knew what I was doing. I wasn’t going to kill him.”

“You weren’t?” Porthos raised an eyebrow.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Athos glanced back at the two of them, and the ground became rather interesting to the younger musketeers.  Once satisfied with their response, he turned his attention back to the problem at hand. “Constance, take him to your house.”

“I’m not his mother.”

 “I’m sure he’ll have questions.  We’ll meet you there.” 

Constance waited a moment before nodding and looked at d’Artagnan. The lad supported himself, and the shaking stopped.  She put a hand on his arm before walking out toward the streets of Paris. d’Artagnan didn’t think twice about following her.  He could feel the fixed attention behind his back and tried his best to ignore it. For some reason, he didn’t have the strength to question why he trusted her or what occurred. His mind replayed the fight like he viewed it from the sidelines. How on earth could Athos make a noise like that, and why had it shaken him to his core?  He took his eyes away from the path and glanced at Constance. She could still feel his blood rushing throughout his body as an unspoken question sat on his tongue.  For a while, the only noise between them was the padding of their shoes beneath their feet.

“What was that?” he asked. Her eyes scanned through the crowd, and her voice returned barely above a whisper.

“Athos forced you into submission.” d’Artagnan raised an eyebrow and looked at her.  Her voice did nothing to hide the poison saturated in her words. “He’s an Alpha. It’s what they do.”

d’Artagnan and Constance reached her house without another word between the two of them. The streets calmed down some as people made their way to their homes for a night of peace. Constance directed him into a house at the end of the road and left the door unlocked behind them. d’Artagnan took in the sights of the small room they entered and turned to Constance. She sighed and walked to the sink.

“I suppose that’s the first time then?”  Her hands became busy with cleaning dishes on the left of the sink. d’Artagnan sat down on a nearby chair. “I’ll never forget my first forced submission.  A terrible power, those Alphas have.”  The scrape of the dish irritated d’Artagnan’s teeth. “I mean, who do those brutes think they are, ordering us about like children?”

d’Artagnan’s ear perked as he heard the door creak. A familiar scent of wine and freshly baked bread filled his nose, and his jaw locked in place. Constance turned in time to see the three from earlier entering her house.

“Don’t you musketeers knock?  This is my house after all.”

d’Artagnan jumped to his feet. Athos peered at him through the mess of hair over his eyes and sighed.

“I’m sure you’d like an explanation. Though I have some questions of my own.”

The hair on the back of d’Artagnan’s neck prickled. “What are you?” His gaze remained strong even if his voice faltered.

Athos stared at him before resting his back against the wall.  He put his hat down upon a nearby countertop and ran a hand through his hair.  “We’re werewolves.”

d’Artagnan took a moment to process his words. “Werewolves are just fairytales people tell each other to pass the time.”  Porthos and Aramis exchanged amused expressions, and Athos’s head dipped down a bit.  His eyes flashed gold once again and d’Artagnan’s blood chilled.

Porthos pulled a chair over to himself.  “Legends have to come from somewhere, yeah?” He sat with the backrest against his chest and folded his arms over the back of it.  d’Artagnan eyed the three of them over.

“So, all of you then… you’re werewolves?”  The three musketeers nodded, but it was Aramis who spoke.

“Aren’t you?”

“No.” d’Artagnan exchanged his look of surprise for confusion.

“Your scent says otherwise,” Athos said.

d’Artagnan shook his head. “No, I’m human. I’ve always been.”

Aramis shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “Did you have a run in with a large animal looking something like a dog recently?”  d’Artagnan’s silence answered him. “If you’re bitten by a purebred Alpha wolf, you can become one of us.  The transformation is painless, and you’ll never know it happened until the first full moon.”

The color drained from d’Artagnan’s face. “You mean I’m going to turn into one of those monsters that feast on human flesh whenever the full moon comes out?”  His eyes studied the three of them, hoping for reassurance that the legends were just that. He encountered three grim faces and a fixed stare from Athos.

“Not unless you can learn to control the shift.”

The world silenced as d’Artagnan did his best to handle Athos’s words.  He couldn’t become one of those things that killed his father.  The moon was already half full when he’d left the farm, which meant he had less than a fortnight to ‘control the shift’ as Athos put it.  The lad gave a curt nod of his head and sucked in a breath. “What do I have to do?”

Athos snuffed. “What are you asking us for?  That’s the job of your Alpha.” Silence answered him. “You don’t have a clue who your Alpha is, do you?”

“I think I killed him.” d’Artagnan’s heart sank as the three of them met his eyes. “Is that bad?”

Somewhere along the silence, an invisible conversation passed between the three men. Athos turned his head toward Porthos. “I’m not taking him in.”

“Come on, Athos. He’s packless.”

“It’s bad enough I have the two of you.”

Aramis stepped by Porthos’s side. “If we let him leave without a pack, who knows what will get ahold of him.”

Athos paused for a moment. He ran a hand over the back of his neck and exhaled through his nose. “Fine. But he’s your responsibility.”

d’Artagnan’s eyes glanced between the three of them as heat rose to his face. “I can decide what I want to do for myself.”

“By all means, go ahead.” Athos’s icy eyes caught his brown ones.  d’Artagnan’s chest expanded.  Athos broke the staring match as he placed his hat back on his head.  The elder walked out of the room and closed the door behind him. The tension in d’Artagnan’s body slipped away, and he slouched back into his seat.  Aramis took a seat beside Porthos and crossed one leg over his knee.

“Welcome to the pack then.”

* * *

d’Artagnan heard the birds outside before the sun peaked over the horizon.  His eyes cracked open as he took in a deep breath.  The smell of food overpowered his senses, and he swallowed the saliva pooling in his mouth.  He sat up and stretched his arms over his head.  Last night’s conversation still buzzed in his head.  Constance was hospitable enough to offer the Gascon stray a place to stay. Albeit, he had to agree to join Athos’s pack, but it seemed like a small consequence to pay.

On the flip side, he still had many questions. What had he gotten into? d’Artagnan brushed a few strands of black hair out of his face and tried to smooth his bedhead.  The mirror to his right reflected a strand of hair sticking up into the air. He tried to smooth it back down, but it sprung back up in place. After trying twice more, the lad gave up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. His feet brushed the cold floor before he stood up and stretched once more. His middle back cracked and sounded like a shot. d’Artagnan’s skin tingled as he reached for his sword, but he realized what occurred. These enhanced senses were going to take some getting used to.

His shirt lay in the heap he’d thrown it in last night.  Hands reached down to pick up the cloth and slip it over his head. He didn’t think he’d be staying in Paris long, or he would’ve packed more clothing.  d’Artagnan straightened out what wrinkles he could find and took in a deep breath.  The smell of food grew stronger, and he imagined Constance cooking in the kitchen.  For a moment, guilt grew in his heart, but she did offer him to stay. Surely that meant providing breakfast as well.

The lad peeked out the door to his room. Nothing inside the house stirred, and no food cooked on the stove.  The smell hung in the air, and d’Artagnan walked out to get a better look at his surroundings. The sun wasn’t high, but it still illuminated the room.  Everything remained in the same as before he went to bed that night.  He turned to walk back to bed when Constance stepped into the room. 

“Sleep well?”

d’Artagnan nodded and knitted his brows together. “Did you-“

“No, you smell the neighbor’s food. How good are you at cooking?” A pause. “I thought as much.”

d’Artagnan leaned against the table and watched Constance cross the kitchen. Something strange washed over his mind as she walked past. The scent of fresh chestnuts roasting with peppermint leaves reached his nose and erased the food’s scent entirely.  It sent his senses into a haze as a shiver ran up his spine.  His heart rate increased as Constance turned to look at him with deep blue eyes.

“What?”

d’Artagnan shook his head. “Nothing.”

Constance returned her attention to her breakfast preparations. “Keep your eyes to yourself. I’m married.”

Something kicked him hard in the stomach. d’Artagnan winced and clenched his jaw. “I wasn’t thinking-“

“I know very well what you were thinking.” Her face was painted with annoyance. The urge to argue welled up in his throat, but he swallowed it.

“I’m going out.”

“But you haven’t eaten anything.”

“I’m sure I’ll find something on the way.” He opened the door and yanked it closed it behind him.  The sound echoed in the street, and d’Artagnan strode away from the house. His heart pounded in his ears as he made his way toward the Musketeer garrison.  Hopefully the other three would already be there, and he wouldn’t look like an idiot standing in a clearing. The sun slid higher and more people emerged into the streets.  Paris woke slower than Gascon, but he still felt as if it was far from finished. 

Not a sound came from the garrison when he arrived.  The smell of horses from the nearby stable reminded the lad of his own.  He walked inside and found his noble stallion awake in its stall.  His hands reached up to stroke the animal’s nose, and it leaned into his touch. d’Artagnan heard its heart pulse through its muzzle as its eyes portrayed its discomfort, and d’Artagnan felt its homesickness wash over him. The sudden feeling pushed him backward a pace or two.  The horse drew its head back and pawed at the ground as it let out a soft whinny. He watched the horse and took a step forward again. Its eyes softened with d’Artagnan’s touch and leaned into him once again. d’Artagnan stroked its nose and whispered comforting words. Perhaps this enhanced sense wasn’t so bad.

After laying some clean hay down, he walked out of the stable to find the garrison coming alive. Musketeers walked here and there, catching up with one another or eating at a table. The smell of food hit his stomach and reminded him how he walked out on breakfast. d’Artagnan slowly made his way into the clearing, earning a questioning glance from two musketeers entering the stable, and caught three familiar shapes lounging at one of the tables.

Athos sat on one side, a bottle of wine in hand and a plate of bread sitting before him. His hair stuck up worse than the day before, even under his hat.  d’Artagnan could smell the alcohol as if it hung under his nose. Porthos and Aramis were on the other side. The former gathered a plate piled high with assorted foods, and Aramis had a simple plate of bread and cheese.  The latter snuck a hand over and grabbed a loaf of bread from Porthos’s plate.  Porthos continued on with his conversation with Athos, though d’Artagnan could tell Athos’s mind wasn’t on his words. The Gascon made his way over to the three of them, and Aramis’s smile widened.

“Well, you’re early.” 

Porthos and Athos turned toward d’Artagnan. The lad sat on the edge of the bench Athos rested upon, which earned a glare from the man. He ignored the threat and kept his eyes trained on Aramis.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Thought we scared you off,” Porthos said.

“Have some bread,” Aramis offered, holding the confiscated bred out to d’Artagnan.  The latter reached up and cradled it in his fingers before giving a smile and a swift nod.  Aramis opened his mouth to speak when a voice shot through the air.

“You three. My office.”

d’Artagnan’s head whipped up toward the railing. A man with rather gray hair peered over the edge and caught his eye. He held his gaze before the man slipped back into the shadows.

“He seemed happy.” Porthos said and stood up.  Aramis followed shortly and then Athos. d’Artagnan resisted the urge to follow them and watched the three disappear into a doorway. His ears picked up a few stray conversations, one questioning why there was a commoner in the garrison, and he turned. His eyes caught the man’s own, and he could feel the shock spill over the stranger. The men pretended as if nothing ever happened.  The smell of Porthos’s abandoned food served an annoying reminder of his negligence to eat anything. His fingers examined the bread handed to him and he took a bite.  As the dough crossed over his tongue, the three musketeers emerged from the room above and made their way down the stairs.

“I still don’t like it,” Athos said. His eyes caught d’Artagnan for a moment, and he looked away.

“Come on. He’s not a rogue cannonball yet.” Porthos slid an amused smile on his face, but it wasn’t returned.

“Besides,” Aramis said as he fixed his hat upon his head, “the boy could use some practice. Seclusion is our best option.”

“He’s freshly turned. I have no idea what he could do.”

d’Artagnan’s stomach bubbled. “I’m right here.”

Athos caught his eye once more, and d’Artagnan dared to hold the man’s gaze. Alpha or not, he wasn’t about to show weakness to a man he’d met yesterday.  Athos grumbled; of course he accepted a temperamental tenderfoot into his ranks. Aramis’s hand clasped d’Artagnan’s shoulder and shook the lad’s concentration.

“Saddle up. You’re coming with us today.”

Athos sent a glare at the younger musketeer, but Aramis didn’t acknowledge it. d’Artagnan swallowed the bite of bread in his mouth and stood up. “Where are we going?”

“We have a mission outside of Paris. Some suspicious activities have come to our attention and we’re going to check it out.”

d’Artagnan’s heart rate increased. Aramis’s warmth left his side as the musketeer walked away toward the barn; Porthos trailed behind him.  Athos lingered back and d’Artagnan shifted his attention back to the elder man. His lips were drawn in a tight line and d’Artagnan could feel the tension rolling off Athos’s body. Without allowing the Alpha to speak, d’Artagnan stood up and followed the other two, who were pushing each other playfully from the side until Porthos broke into a run to chase Aramis to the stables.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Critiques are welcomed and taken seriously!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> d’Artagnan’s stomach twisted into something tight. Athos’s words played over in his head, but he didn’t think Aramis the type to disobey a direct order without reason. He removed his weapons from his persona as Aramis had, but kept everything else on all the same. His heart raced through his body, but his limbs still tingled. Aramis sat on the ground and patted the grass beside him, and d’Artagnan took a seat unceremoniously next to his elder. Aramis cracked a smile, closed his eyes, and inhaled.
> 
> “Take in a deep breath, close your eyes, and tell me what surrounds you.”
> 
>  
> 
> Or:
> 
> Aramis and d'Artagnan have a training session, and it doesn't quite go as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this was a fun chapter to write. I was going to drag out the issue between d'Artagnan and Aramis's shifts, but I figured there's no time like the present. And besides, they were just filler chapters anyway.
> 
> While this chapter doesn't leave you off on a cliff hanger, it will leave you in a moment of suspense.
> 
> Word count: 4,530

d’Artagnan allowed his stallion’s steps to lull him into deep thought. Athos rode in front of the pack, his eyes straight ahead.  Aramis occasionally opened his mouth, which would earn a witty remark from Porthos, or vice versa.  The latter turned around once and a while to make sure d’Artagnan didn’t fall off his horse. 

Athos’s horse stopped as the man straightened his back. Porthos didn’t notice the sudden action, and his horse stopped short of running into Athos’s. Aramis let out a laugh under his breath, which earned a sharp glance from Porthos but no reaction from Athos.  d’Artagnan strained his ears to try and pick up what had the Alpha so still, but he couldn’t find anything wrong.  Porthos’s head tilted up as he took in a taste of the air.

“There’s nothing here,” he said and trained his eyes on Athos.

“Exactly.”

“Then what are we doing?”

“You’re going to train him.”

d’Artagnan didn’t need Athos to look at him for blood to rush to his face.

Porthos snuffed. “While what… you race off to find a rogue pack and get yourself killed?”

“I did say he was your responsibility.”

Porthos opened his mouth to argue, but Aramis cut him off. “Why don’t I start his training?  I remember what it’s like the first time-”

“No.” Porthos’s head whipped toward Aramis.  The latter opened his mouth, but Porthos cut him off. “There’s no way you’re training the tenderfoot on your own.”

“Nothing will happen.” Aramis didn’t seem too convinced his words were true. “Besides, I don’t believe you have the patience to teach.  Lord knows you didn’t with me.”

“That was different.”

“How so?”

“I knew you. I knew the way you worked.”

“He can’t be that far gone yet.  He’s freshly turned.”

Porthos’s eyes flickered toward d’Artagnan, and the tension in the second long glance forced d’Artagnan’s hackles to stand.  “It’s too dangerous for you to train him alone.”

Aramis’s smile forced its way out. “I’ll be fine. You go ahead with Athos and scout the area.  Should anything happen, I’ll signal you.”

Athos watched the conversation between them before speaking. “We’ll meet in this exact spot in a few hours. Don’t shift unless absolutely necessary.” His eyes caught onto Porthos’s frustrated frown before he urged his stallion forward. The latter musketeer kept his gaze trained on Aramis a second longer before following Athos.  Their horses cantered into the brush and disappeared into the dense forest.

Aramis sighed and dismounted his horse. d’Artagnan followed suit and studied the musketeer’s posture.  Brown eyes, darker than d’Artagnan’s own, gazed at the ground beneath him. His breathing matched the rise and fall of his chest and teeth nipped at his lower lip. Aramis’s eyes didn’t meet d’Artagnan’s until he straightened his posture.

“So, how long have you been a wolf?” Aramis asked as he took off his hat.

“Maybe a few days.”

Aramis nodded and ran a hand through his hair. “I take it you’ve seen a wolf – no, an Alpha wolf – since its bite is what turned you.”

“What’s the difference?”

Aramis let out a dry chuckle. “Well, for one, an Alpha wolf is huge.  They usually have some sort of authority mark on their fur pattern, and their wolf form is either black or silver.”

d’Artagnan allowed his imagination to run wild.  “And there’s the submission thing.”

“Well, there’s that too.” He removed his gloves and swung his belt over a nearby branch.  His hat hung on one of the smaller twigs as if it rested on a coat rack. “If you’re worried about Athos making you do things you don’t want to, don’t.” He emphasized the last word and stretched his shoulders backward.  “First rule about shifting: you remove anything you don’t want ruined.”

d’Artagnan’s stomach twisted into something tight. Athos’s words played over in his head, but he didn’t think Aramis the type to disobey a direct order without reason. He removed his weapons from his persona as Aramis had, but kept everything else on all the same. His heart raced through his body, but his limbs still tingled. Aramis sat on the ground and patted the grass beside him, and d’Artagnan took a seat unceremoniously next to his elder. Aramis cracked a smile, closed his eyes, and inhaled.

“Take in a deep breath, close your eyes, and tell me what surrounds you.”

d’Artagnan furrowed his brows. How was this supposed to help him shift? He shook his head twice before following suit.  The thought of someone surprise attacking them swirled in his mind. He squeezed his eyes tighter and let out a huff.

“There’s nothing here.”

“Are you sure?” Aramis’s smile widened.  His calm voice echoed inside d’Artagnan’s ears and cleared his mind.

d’Artagnan’s breathing became rhythmic.  The breeze brushed his hair out of his face as the smell of fish reached his nose. Rushing water echoed off the trees, and a splash came soon after.  d’Artagnan’s eyes opened, and he scrambled to his feet.

Aramis cracked an eye open. “You heard that?” d’Artagnan’s flustered expression answered him. “The stream is at least a half hour’s walk from here.”

d’Artagnan’s shoulders slacked, and he returned to his sitting position. “Then how can I hear it?”

“Remember those enhanced senses we talked about?  Everything from your sense of touch to taste has increased. You’ll be able to see better in the dark and hear things normal ears can’t pick up.”

d’Artagnan cracked a smug smile. “Do I get enhanced strength and speed too?”

“Not quite, but you will heal faster than the average person.  A wound that could kill a man will knock you off your feet for a few days, but that’s it.”

“So, we’re immortal?”

Aramis’s smile widened. “Only if you finish this exercise.”

d’Artagnan closed his eyes once again and took in a deep breath. He heard the rise and fall of Aramis’s chest beside him. A warming scent of cinnamon mixed with freshly squeezed grapes rolled off Aramis’s persona.  It didn’t carry the same comfort Constance’s scent brought, but it still calmed d’Artagnan’s mind. The breeze caused the trees to shiver and broke his concentration once again. d’Artagnan did his best to regain his composure, but found it harder to sink back into his peaceful disposition. He growled and stood up, pacing along the clearing.

“It isn’t working,” he said. Aramis sighed and stood up, dusting the grass off his clothing.

“It’s the most important part to regaining your control over the shift. Once you let the wolf take over your form, it will take over your mind. If you can latch onto your surroundings, you have a better chance of keeping the dominance struggle at bay.”

d’Artagnan stopped his pacing to look at Aramis. The latter’s stone expression eroded away to reveal his exasperation.  Aramis placed a hand on d’Artagnan’s shoulder and gave it a slight squeeze.  His voice retained its sweet purr. “Try again.”

d’Artagnan shook his head but continued with the exercise nonetheless. Concentrating wasn’t easier, but he definitely liked standing. Birds chirped and flew overhead as leaves scuffled to his right. The scent of rabbit and berry juice filled the air. He could hear the rabbit nibbling as leaves rustled about, and the grass shifted beneath its feet.  Bird calls echoed through the trees as bees buzzed past his ear.  He wrinkled his brow and tried to focus on one thing at a time. The wind speed picked up, shifting the leaves and causing a branch to fall somewhere in the distance. The warmth of the sun disappeared as something rumbled in the west. Rotting flesh overpowered his nose and almost made him gag. His senses were going wild with the amount of stimulation. Anger clouded his mind, and he yelled out.

“This is so stupid! Why do I need to do this anyway?”

Aramis’s hand left his shoulder, and his scent disappeared. d’Artagnan opened his eyes and looked around.

“Aramis?”

Something wet touched his hand, and he jumped to the left. A rust colored wolf stood beside him, its yellow eyes trained on the Gascon. It sat down in the grass and scratched its right side before shaking its body. d’Artagnan knelt down and looked the animal over.  Enlarged pupils covered most of the yellow iris in its eyes. White socks covered its legs, and a thick brown patch hugged its back.  Black circles masked its eyes, and the bottom of its muzzle was powdered white. Its rather bushy tail tampered off from red into a brown gradient.  d’Artagnan’s hand stretched out to stroke the fur in front of him, and the wolf kept its gaze on the lad’s face. Its fur felt like feathers beneath his fingers.  Its dilated pupils shrunk to reveal the natural golden irises, and the wolf relaxed. That’s when d’Artagnan picked up the familiar scent of grapes and cinnamon.

d’Artagnan’s lips twitched into a smile. Even in his wolf form, Aramis retained his entrancing demeanor.  The wolf walked away from d’Artagnan and sat in the grass, its back facing him. One of its brown ears twitched back toward the lad and returned to its alert position.  The wolf’s head turned around to face d’Artagnan.

_I wanted you to listen without showing you the consequences, but perhaps you need an example. Do you know how difficult it is for me to shift?_

The question reached d’Artagnan’s mind as if Aramis had spoken it, but the wolf’s jaws remained still.   d’Artagnan shook his head.  Aramis’s head lowered a bit, and he stared at a spot on the ground. His jaw remained in its locked position.

 _I’m constantly battling with my inner wolf. When Athos discovered a werewolf bit me, it was already a full moon. He had no time to teach me how to control my shift._ The words paused for a moment. _It was the worst feeling I’ve ever woken up to. One minute, Porthos and he were standing by my side, trying to get me to relax and take in their scents, and the next, I was standing over a woman. Her frozen fearful expression still haunts my dreams._

d’Artagnan’s heart clenched. He remembered a time when he was too drunk to remember the night before, but he thankfully woke up in his own bed. What must it be like to have the weight of killing an innocent person on your heart every time you became who you really were? d’Artagnan’s mind churned he listened to Aramis’s story. If he had to endure this to make sure no one was hurt, he’d sit in the woods a thousand times over, no matter how much his temper interrupted.

“I think I’m ready to try again,” d’Artagnan spoke. Aramis didn’t acknowledge his words, and the wolf’s tense body rose to its paws. Its eyes flashed toward the Gascon and once again, black pupils swallowed its golden eyes.  d’Artagnan’s heart rate increased. The wolf growled and began to move toward him.

“Aramis?” His voice tried to remain stern, but it cracked at the next word. “Aramis.”

The wolf froze, and shook its body.  Its eyes clenched shut, and when they opened again, they were golden once more. Paws retreated backward until the wolf sat in the grass, its muzzle pointed directly toward the ground.

_I’m sorry.  I lost it for a moment._

d’Artagnan’s body relaxed. He remembered something along Porthos’s and Aramis’s conversation before he and Athos rode off into the woods. The Gascon’s lips drew into a tight line, and he chose his next words carefully. “When Porthos mentioned it would be dangerous for you to train me alone,” He paused and gathered his thoughts, “he wasn’t talking about me hurting you, was he?”

Aramis’s head looked up at d’Artagnan, and the latter didn’t need his companion’s human face to see the sadness in his expression.  

 _Because I didn’t learn to control the wolf before my first shift, my wolf gained an upper hand inside my mind. Sometimes, I slip out of consciousness and have no idea where I am or how I get there.  I use the air around me to think of human thoughts. Whenever I feel the wind blow, I imagine riding on horseback.  Birds chirping remind me of the nest that was outside my window a few months ago. There are so many other things I can think of, but I don’t have the time to explain._ He paused. _I didn’t want to shift in front of you. The risks are too high, but I didn’t know how to get my point across to you. You need to learn how to take in your surroundings. You and I don’t have the luxury of controlling our wolves from birth._

d’Artagnan did his best to take in Aramis’s words. If what he said were true, the wolf would be able to take his mind within an instant. He had no idea how to connect the sounds around him to his human self.  Hopefully, Aramis’s training could help him understand.  Aramis let out a low whine and stood to shake his whole body.

_Perhaps this was a bad idea.  We should go get the others. They have more experience training feral wolves than I do._

d’Artagnan sucked in a breath. “I’ll be fine; I trust you. You wouldn’t hurt me.” He wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince Aramis or himself; maybe it was a bit of both. Aramis’s eyes lit up for a moment and he stood. His tail swished behind him twice.

_Then let’s try…_

His legs shook as his head lowered to the ground. d’Artagnan furrowed his brows, waiting for Aramis to continue. He watched Aramis’s head raise up again, his once golden eyes covered with dark pupils. Sudden realization kicked d’Artagnan in the gut. He took a step toward Aramis, and the wolf growled. d’Artagnan’s outstretched hand jumped back as if bitten, and he clenched his jaw.

The wolf’s jaws widened to reveal yellowed teeth.  It lunged forward, and d’Artagnan barely rolled out of the way. Heavy paws pounded into the ground and turned toward him. A fearsome snarl shot out into the air before it attacked again.

“Aramis!” d’Artagnan dodged, but the wolf latched onto his upper left arm. The Gascon let out a yell as the wolf brought him down on his back. He felt warm blood splatter on his cheek as Aramis’s jaw increased pressure. The bone underneath his arm cracked, and d’Artagnan threw his head back with a pained yelp. His eyes flew around and spotted his sword only a step away.  The wolf tore its head back, blood dripping from its muzzle.

The feral wolf lashed down for his throat, and d’Artagnan rolled away. He scrambled to his sword, drew it, and pointed the blade at the wolf. It tilted his head as it warred with its instincts. d’Artagnan’s blood roared in his ears. As the wolf let out a low growl, the lad’s eyes looked down to examine the damage done to his arm. Blood soaked the area around his arm and stained his shirt crimson. He could see the torn flesh beneath the shreds of cloth. d’Artagnan’s stomach back flipped; he didn’t want to hurt Aramis, but he would defend himself any way he needed to. 

Horse hooves echoed in the trees behind them.  The wolf tensed and raised its nose. d’Artagnan recognized the smell of wine and bread behind him and turned. He let out a sigh as his heart relaxed a bit. d’Artagnan turned his full attention ahead.

A flash of fangs lunged toward him.

His body reacted.

A bloodcurdling yowl sent birds flying out of the nearby trees.

* * *

 

“Would you calm down?”

“I can’t help it. What if he loses it?”

“I have full trust in Aramis.”

Porthos sputtered. “I trust him too. It’s just...”

Athos stopped and met Porthos’s eyes. The latter glanced down at his hands, his lips drawn into a tight line, and continued. “I don’t want it to happen again.”

Athos sighed and looked straight ahead of them. The scent of the other wolves hung in the air, but he could tell they were still quite a distance away. Ever since d’Artagnan and Aramis disappeared from their sights, Porthos had been looking over his shoulder as if he expected the two to jump out of the bushes. Athos remembered the last time Porthos separated from Aramis for too long, and he ran a hand through his hair. Porthos was never good with leaving Aramis alone, and for good reason. His own voice nagged about the danger they had just put d’Artagnan in, but years of experience made it easy to stifle his conscience.

“Can you still feel him?” Athos asked. He wasn’t sure if Porthos or he needed the reassurance, but he hoped his words would help nonetheless.

Porthos closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. A warm glow swallowed his sorrow, and he smiled. Athos’s horse shifted beneath him and pawed at the ground. Porthos opened his eyes and nodded. “He’s frustrated, but he’s still there.”

“Then you have nothing to worry about.”

Athos’s horse continued on without his consent. Porthos urged his stallion into a steady trot until he caught up with the other horse and evened out their pace. Every other tree oozed the scent marks of the rogue wolves. The Alpha cursed under his breath; they were marking the woods as their own. Both his pack and the Court Pack had an agreement: the woods were to be free territory for hunting and shifting under the full moon.  With the threat of a new pack, tension would definitely find its way back into Paris.  Athos remembered the struggle to nullify the Court’s hold on the territory beforehand. If they were wary to share before, they definitely would break out in war over a third pack.  The thought stung the back of the man’s throat; the last thing anyone needed at the moment was a war.

The clouds overhead took the sun away every once and a while as the breeze blew the tree leaves about.  They soon covered the sky completely before a rumble rolled over the tops of the trees. Athos could smell fresh rain falling in the distance as a flash of lightning illuminated the canopy above.  If the rains fell, the scent in the air would wash away by the time they returned. However, he knew the risks of riding in the rain, and his stallion would not do well with the surrounding noise.

“We should turn back,” Athos said and glanced toward Porthos. The musketeer’s eyes were wide; his breaths drawn in quickly.  A word hung at the tip of his lips, and Athos didn’t need to hear it to know what occurred. He could feel the tension hanging in the air from not only the storm, but from behind them. Athos’s heart jumped, and he ordered his horse to retreat. Hooves pounded the earth as the two sprinted back to the clearing.  Athos could smell the fear in the animals around him. The horses, both scared from the storm and the strong emotion coming from their riders, jumped and dodged objects like they were competing in a race. Lightning struck somewhere in the distance, followed curtly by a crack of thunder. Athos heard his heart begin to pound as a new scent filled his nose. 

“Hold on d’Artagnan.” He kept his voice low but his head high. The dense woods turned into nothing more than a few trees scattered about.  He watched d’Artagnan turn in time to see the wolf charging him. The Gascon’s body tensed as his arm jumped into position. Athos yelled out, but a yelp cut through his words.  The wolf continued forward, though thrown off its original course, and slid on its side in the grass. d’Artagnan dropped his sword as if it dripped with poisoned. His once white shirt stained red with his own and the wolf’s blood. Athos pulled his horse to a stop and dismounted.  He didn’t have time to grab Porthos, who had already jumped on top of d’Artagnan.

The Gascon cried out as Porthos pinned both of the lad’s shoulders to the ground. His face twisted in pain as the throbbing in his arm intensified. Porthos’s lips pulled into a snarl.

“What do you think you were doing?” His voice hissed through his teeth. d’Artagnan wished he could answer back, but fear froze his jaw closed. “You could’ve killed him!”

“Porthos!” Athos raced over and grabbed the older man by the shoulders. He pulled back, but he knew it was useless. Porthos barely budged as Athos threw all his weight into a thrust backward. d’Artagnan’s face interchanged between pain and shock. His eyes reflected Porthos’s rage stricken face; lips moved to produce words but found no sound.

“Porthos, that’s enough.” Three bodies froze as the weak voice came from behind them. Aramis had shifted back to his human form and and examined the clean cut line on his bare torso. The musketeer hummed and ran his fingers along the edge of it. “That’s going to need some stitching.”

Porthos released d’Artagnan to go to Aramis’s side. Athos reached down to help the younger up when his eyes landed on d’Artagnan’s arm. The lad reached up to grab Athos’s hand, and the Alpha helped the younger to his feet. d’Artagnan noticed the leader’s eyes trained on his arm, and his hand rose up to brush his shoulder. “It’s just a bite.”

Apparently, Athos wasn’t the only one to notice his injury. Porthos argued with Aramis, who put up a rather large fuss about d’Artagnan’s shoulder. Athos walked over to the tree with Aramis’s hat on it and picked it up. Thunder rumbled in the background as he walked over to the two bickering musketeers. The man shoved Aramis’s hat on its owner’s head, silencing him mid-sentence.

“I’d rather continue this conversation dry. And for God's sake, put some pants on.”

Porthos shot Athos a glare, but Aramis shrugged and did his best to stand. Porthos hurried to his side, even though the former assured him he could stand on his own.  The younger musketeer winced as he pulled his side muscles and kept his eyes trained on d’Artagnan. He pulled on the breeches lying on the ground, lightly pushed away from Porthos, and made his way to d’Artagnan, who stopped himself from retreating. Cautious fingers brushed the lad’s shoulder and examined the torn cloth around d’Artagnan’s arm.   d’Artagnan couldn’t read Aramis’s expression, but he didn’t miss how the man’s eyes glossed a bit upon examining the wound.

Aramis sighed. “It seems I bit into your bone, but it’s not broken.  You’re going to be in some pain until that heals.  Your skin and muscles should completely heal within the next hour, though I’d like to get the bleeding to stop.”

“Don’t worry about me.” d’Artagnan couldn’t hide the anger in his voice. “You’re bleeding out by the second.”

Athos’s head glanced up at the sky.  Thunder closed in on them, and he knew they’d never make it out of the storm in time with the condition they were in. He grabbed Aramis’s bag from the side of his horse and plopped it next to the musketeer.

“Work fast.”

It wasn’t an order, but Aramis flinched. He met Athos’s eyes with a nod and dug around for some gauge. Porthos began to pace, frustration rolling off his body in waves.

Aramis’s hand came out with a white cloth. “I’m going to need you to remove your shirt.”

d’Artagnan shook his head. “You first.”

Aramis’s eyes shot up toward the younger. “I don’t have time to argue. Remove your shirt.”

“Aramis, you’re growing paler by the second.”

“Remember what I said. I’ll heal.”

“As will I. Besides, it’s my fault you’re hurt.”

Aramis studied the boy’s expression. His lips drew into a tight line as lightning illuminated the trees and thunder followed soon after. 

Athos stood behind Aramis. “If you’re both going to argue, I’m going to do it.”

Aramis looked up at the Alpha before he sighed. “If you want to get out of the storm so badly, you care for d’Artagnan’s shoulder, and I’ll work on myself.”  He dug around in his bag and pulled out a needle and thread. d’Artagnan watched shaking fingers thread a needle before Athos stepped in front of the other musketeer. The Alpha’s own hands shook as he grabbed the cloth Aramis abandoned in the grass. For any other man, he would need to cleanse the wound, but he knew d’Artagnan’s body would fight off any infection. d’Artagnan removed his shirt to give Athos better access to his wound and stared into haunted blue eyes. His once comforting scent dissipated into something stronger, and d’Artagnan choked on the poisonous smell.  His body began to tremble with the new experience, and Athos’s eyes softened into something sweeter.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

Athos looked away for a moment. He unwound the cloth and began his work without another word. d’Artagnan wished to continue the conversation, but for some reason, he let it slip away.  He didn’t miss the way Athos’s shoulders would tense when the thunder rumbled or the slight quiver in his hand when lightning brightened their surroundings. The Gascon drew his own conclusions to the current events as Athos tied off the bandages. d’Artagnan winced but caught a hiss of pain in his throat.  Athos stood up, and d’Artagnan followed suit.  His world spun and a hand reached out to steady his shoulder. The smell of bread and wine returned to his nose, and the lad forced a small smile on his face. “Thank you.”

Athos’s eyebrow rose a bit before he turned to look away. Porthos sat on the ground and conversed with Aramis, who finished the stitching on his side and wrapped a bandage in place. d’Artagnan observed the way Porthos’s eyes landed on Aramis’s own, and the latter would return it with a charming smile. He couldn’t stop the wave of empathy that splashed over him and a smile slid onto his face.  Aramis stood, followed suit by Porthos, and looked over toward Athos and d’Artagnan.

“Well, shall we?”

The words were out of his mouth seconds before Athos mounted his horse. Aramis pulled himself up under the watchful eye of Porthos, who backed up and missed a rather playful kick of Aramis’s boot.

d’Artagnan walked to the side of his black stallion. The horse reached back and held its nose above his injured shoulder.  Its muzzle then brushed up against his cheek. d’Artagnan smiled before reaching over with his good arm to stroke its nose. The stallion’s head drifted away after a quick pat, and it folded its left leg underneath its stomach.  Its front shoulders lowered as its body backed up into a bowing position. The horse turned to look at d’Artagnan before shaking its head. d’Artagnan used all the strength in his right arm to hoist himself up and swung his leg over the horse.  As soon as he mounted, the stallion stood up.  He could feel the three gazes of the musketeers before urging his faithful stallion forward.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> d’Artagnan’s right hand stretched over to clasp onto hers. She tensed and relaxed all in the blink of an eye. The sensitivity in her touch traveled through d’Artagnan’s body faster than any fire ever could and calmed his heart. That famous perfume produced butterflies in his abdomen. Compassion, warmth, fear, sorrow, and awe fought for dominance in his mind. From the look on Constance’s face, she experienced the same inner turmoil as he did.
> 
> “I… I’m going to make some tea.” Her words were quivering as much as her hand, and she pulled away. “I’m sure you could use some warming up.”
> 
> “I’d like that.”
> 
>  
> 
> Or:
> 
> d'Artagnan learns there's more to being a werewolf than shifting under a full moon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter focuses heavily on Constance and d'Artagnan. I'm pretty sure you'll be able to guess what's happening to them, but if you can't, it'll all be explained in the next chapter.
> 
> Oh, and an antagonist pops up in this chapter. See if you can guess who it is~
> 
> Originally, this chapter was going to end badly. Be thankful I went easy on you.
> 
> Word Count: 3,838

Every time d’Artagnan’s horse took a step, pain shot through his shoulder.  He knew it was healing; the agonizing itch was more than enough proof, but he wished it would hurry up and finish already.  d’Artagnan knew Aramis was going through the same hell, especially with how he wriggled about in the saddle every once and a while, and judging from the sideways glances Porthos kept sending the younger musketeer, he was in as much pain as the former.  Athos kept glancing up at the sky, and something smelled off about the Alpha. d’Artagnan didn’t want to pry, but his unanswered curiosity kept his mind busy.

Paris pulled its windows closed and cleaned its streets as the storm came.  The city was still as beautiful as ever, even with the silhouette of the storm in the background.  The air cooled as rain began to drip onto the dusty earth. Plant leaves sang in potted windows, and the horse’s hooves were soon drowned out by a rush of steady rain.

Salt from d’Artagnan’s brow washed into his eyes, and he used what remained of his dry sleeve to negate its attack.  His bandage swelled with rain and irritated the skin beneath it. So much for making it back before the storm let loose.

Through the rain, d’Artagnan could just make out the outline of Constance as she paced at her door. The woman’s head glanced up, and she met d’Artagnan’s eyes. Her worried face soon twisted into fury, and she marched her way over to the four of them. 

“What were you doing? Using him for target practice?” Aramis’s head glanced away, and her eyes softened a bit as understanding crossed her mind. “Why must men be so reckless?”

“It’s part of the job description,” Athos said as he dismounted his horse.  He turned his head toward Constance, his voice scarcely above a whisper. “Look after d’Artagnan for a moment.”

“Why don’t you?”

“I have things to discuss with the Captain.”

“Stay here and dry off. You’ll catch your death out in this storm.” Constance had no qualms about how loudly she announced it.

“You sure you want your house smelling of wet dog?” Aramis asked.

Porthos nodded. “Monsieur Bonacieux wouldn’t appreciate that, yeah?”

Constance cringed at the mention of her husband. She waited for d’Artagnan to dismount before examining his arm.  He couldn’t read her expression as she picked up shreds of his shirt and examined the bandage through the holes.  Her touch sent sparks into d’Artagnan’s body, and he shuddered.  His pupils dilated and contracted as her fresh perfume washed away the smell of the fallen rain.  She looked up into his eyes; those beautiful blue eyes met his own brown ones, and she took in a deep breath.  d’Artagnan failed to register Aramis spoke, and according to her reaction, Constance sailed in the same boat.

“What did you say?” She held d’Artagnan’s gaze a moment longer before turning toward Aramis.

The man had a smile on his face, and d’Artagnan’s hair on his neck rose.  It was the same smile he gave Porthos when he had a secret worth telling but no intention of sharing.  Aramis shook his head before repeating his words.

“I said: he has a wound on his arm, but it should be halfway healed by now. Change the soaked bandage; I’m sure it’s rather uncomfortable by now.  Watch his arm for the next few hours though. I bit into the bone.”  He shot d’Artagnan a glance that said ‘I’m sorry’ before returning his attention to Constance. “I’ll meet up with you later tonight to check on the wound and make sure it’s healing properly. I would stay, but I have my own business to attend to.”  The horse shifted beneath him, making the man draw his lips into a tight line as his side pulled.

“So self-absorbed.” Porthos shook his head with a sideways grin. Aramis looked as if he wanted to answer, but settled for a snort through his nose.  Athos looked between the two musketeers behind him, holding one of their famous conversations between glances, and trotted off toward the musketeer garrison. d’Artagnan watched the trio lead his stallion along with them as he followed Constance inside. The warmth of the fire reached his skin and he shivered. How long had he been cold without realizing it? He opened up his vest, which Constance took off without asking, and watched her drape it over a chair.

The fragrance of fresh chestnuts roasting with peppermint leaves clung in the air when she left his side. He took in a deep breath, savoring the sweet smell, and his mouth watered.  His senses blurred for a moment as she turned to face him, her own cheeks holding a powerful blush.

“Are you all right? You look feverish.”

“I’m fine.”

She pulled out a chair from underneath the table, and she ordered him to remove his shirt so she could observe the bandages. He allowed her the access, and her nimble fingers worked at the saturated cloth.  It unraveled into a heap on d’Artagnan’s lap and one of the ends hung over the side of the chair. Constance sucked in a breath as her fingers ran over the scabbing wound.  Her eyes echoed her tender touch as she chewed on her lip and glanced up to meet d’Artagnan’s warm brown orbs.  Soft lips opened to say something, but she closed them and returned her gaze to his shoulder.

d’Artagnan’s right hand stretched over to clasp onto hers. She tensed and relaxed all in the blink of an eye. The sensitivity in her touch traveled through d’Artagnan’s body faster than any fire ever could and calmed his heart. That famous perfume produced butterflies in his abdomen.  Compassion, warmth, fear, sorrow, and awe fought for dominance in his mind. From the look on Constance’s face, she experienced the same inner turmoil as he did.

“I… I’m going to make some tea.” Her words were quivering as much as her hand, and she pulled away. “I’m sure you could use some warming up.”

“I’d like that.”

As she left, a wave of emptiness washed over d’Artagnan.  All the warmth disappeared from his body and the ache in his shoulder returned. He did his best to ignore the contraction of his heart, but he couldn’t overlook how hard his body fought to retain proper posture.  Constance kept glancing over her shoulder at him, something communicating with his soul. He could sense the uneasiness in her stare, and the emotion washed over him like a wave.  He willed the feeling away and replaced it with forced warmth. The next time Constance looked over at him, a smile sat on her face.  She brought a cup of tea over to the table and placed it in front of d’Artagnan.

“So, what happened?” She asked.

d’Artagnan explained the events to her in the best detail he could. Constance’s face twisted with different emotions as he portrayed his tale.  She played with her fingers when they weren’t curled around her tea cup and held d’Artagnan’s gaze as if his eyes were a screen to view his memories.

“That’s awful,” she said when d’Artagnan finished his story. “You must’ve been terrified.”

The thought never crossed his mind until Constance uttered the phrase.  For a moment, d’Artagnan felt disconnected from his body.

“I was.  Aramis had no control over what he did.  He would’ve killed me if I didn’t…” He chewed at his lip. “What if I lose myself like he did? What if I become so detached from my body, I can’t pull myself out of it? What if I can’t learn to shift before the full moon? I’m still terrified. I only have a week, and then after that, the wolf could do anything it wants, and I’d be powerless to stop it.”

He watched Constance reach out for his hand; the warmth returned to his body and chased his fear away. Another hand reached up and stroked his cheek. The action smeared something wet across his face.  d’Artagnan felt the urge to pull away, to retreat back into his own mind and erase the words his lips released. However, his body remained still and whispered this is where he belonged. He leaned into Constance’s touch and willed the tears to stop, until he realized she was crying as well. Guilt welled up into his chest as he placed his other hand on top of hers.

“Please don’t cry.”

A look of shock covered her face before she glanced down at her hand.  After a pause, she pulled her hands from him and stood up, wiping the tears on her hands to her dress.

“I… I need some air.”

d’Artagnan wanted to call after her, to hold her in his arms and whisper her sorrow away, but she ran to her room and slammed the door behind her.  His heart clenched in his chest and threw off his balance.  He took in a shaky breath and stood; his hand gripped the edge of the table. The smell of chestnuts dissipated; only its memory remained in his head.  d’Artagnan’s ears no longer rushed with his own blood, but they noticed the rain stopped falling on the window. His eyes peered over to the transparent glass, and rays lit up the side of his torso.  If the sun rested upon his body, why was he still freezing?

d’Artagnan tried to rub sensation back into his limbs. Why was he so eager for Constance’s presence?  He wasn’t in love with her; he barely knew her, but something in his mind told him to stay by her side. He knew it was silly; the woman was married.  And besides, just because he felt this pull didn’t mean she did. The last thing he wanted to do was make her uncomfortable.

But what if he did? What if that’s the reason she ran to her room? Guilt welled up in his chest and the air became rather stuffy. He took in a deep breath, hoping he hadn’t offended her in some way.  So many questions surrounded the Gascon and fought for their spot in the front of his mind. Some fresh air would clear his head in no time.

d’Artagnan threw his shirt back on and walked out of Constance’s house. The sun still offered no warmth as he made his way down the streets. Though the storm ended, the streets of Paris remained still.   The air smelled fresh, not as fresh as the streets of his home when the storms passed, but the air quality definitely improved. Humidity swirled in the air and collected on his tongue as he took in a breath through his mouth.  Despite how warm his surroundings appeared, his skin tingled with the same numbness as before.  d’Artagnan lowered his head as he walked, his feet appearing and disappearing in his vision. 

“You look lost.”

d’Artagnan’s heart leapt. His head turned to stare down an alley.  A trail of water streamed down the side of the building and splattered into the soil.  His nose rose into the air; no smells other than the rain circled him.  The Gascon’s eyebrows furrowed; he could’ve sworn a woman’s voice uttered those three words.  His eyes scanned the area one last time before he decided his nerves were playing a cruel trick on him. 

d’Artagnan turned to find a woman’s face in front of him, and he jumped backwards.  How did he not hear that? He stopped a growl from rising to his chest and urged his hackles to smooth back down.  The woman smiled as she took in his appearance and let out a breathy laugh through her nose.  Her raven hair curled about and cascaded behind her head; eyes green as envy stared into his very soul.

“Jumpy, aren’t we?”

d’Artagnan’s heart nearly burst through his chest. “You just surprised me.”

She took a step closer, and the smell of honey swirled about her.  d’Artagnan sucked in a deep breath.  The smell had a hypnotic air to it, and it took all his muscles to keep him planted where he stood.  Her eyes, unreadable yet open at the same time, stared into his soul and forced a shiver out of his body. His jaw squeaked as he spoke, as if he hadn’t used it in days. “Who are you?”

She stopped and tilted her head to the side. Her smile widened, sweet and devilish, and d’Artagnan wondered how she pulled off such conflicting statements.  “Oh, just a concerned friend.”  Between her words, she stepped closer to him. Her hand reached up to touch his cheek, but he flinched backward. Fire ignited in her eyes as her grin widened. “What’s the matter? Do I scare you?”

“No.” d’Artagnan’s jaw snapped shut.  Her eyes studied him as a chuckle escaped her throat.

“Oh, what a bad liar you are, d’Artagnan.”

“How-“

She put a finger to his lips. d’Artagnan’s skin crawled as she began to walk to his side.  His head followed her as she circled around him, her eyes taking in everything.  Her aroma dizzied him, and he squeezed his eyes shut to retain his upright position. Every ounce of his body screamed for his legs to run, but his legs refused to listen.  His hand gripped the hilt of his sword, and she clasped a hand on his left shoulder.  Fingers glided down and brushed over the healing wound on his arm.  Her hand grabbed onto the very spot, and she leaned in towards his ear. 

“Why don’t you take a walk with me?” she asked.  Her hand slid down to the small of d’Artagnan’s back. “It would relax you a bit.”

d’Artagnan wanted to say no, to bolt right back to where he came from, but he couldn’t move his jaw at all. The lad choked on the heavy scent of honey, which blurred his senses and contained the only thing he could focus on. She smiled and began walking down the street, and to d’Artagnan’s surprise, he followed without a word. The two swept down the streets of Paris undetected and back into the woods d’Artagnan and the others emerged from.  Rain slipped off the leaves in huge drops and soaked dry spots on d’Artagnan’s shirt.  He should’ve been able to smell the same fresh air from home, but all he could smell was her.  His mind screamed for his body to stop as the hair on his arms rose.  The woman stopped in her tracks and turned to him, her expression soft.

“There, there. No need to get excited, tenderfoot.  I’m not going to hurt you.” d’Artagnan’s mouth gaped as she nodded. “I’ve been watching you since you came into the city.  Don’t look so surprised; I’m a master at covering my scent unless I want to be seen.  I’ve noticed you’re playing with Athos and his little pack of misfits.”

d’Artagnan pulled away at the mention of the musketeer pack.  “So what if I have?”

She hummed. “They’re cute, aren’t they? The way they all band together and protect humans.  So contradictory to their inner demons.  But I can see them for the true monsters they are.”

His eyes narrowed as he grit his teeth. “They’re not monsters.”

“Oh really? You saw what becomes of them if they lose themselves. They’d attack anything that moves, friend or foe.”  She began to walk away, her steps slow and calculated. “Tell me, d’Artagnan, if I was to break up their little rag tag team, would you leave Paris?”

Her eyes glinted with something, and d’Artagnan felt rage consume his body.  His lips curled back into a snarl. “You leave them alone.”

Her laugh forced its way out of her throat and buried itself deep inside d’Artagnan’s chest. Her words hissed out of her throat like an adder. “Oh, it’s too late for that, love.” 

d’Artagnan leapt over to his right, as far away from her as he could.  He choked on the honey sweetness as it washed over his body.  Something was off about it though; another scent shrouded itself inside the sugary smell.  It choked all the oxygen from his lungs and burned his throat. His blood pounded in his head, stronger than he’d ever felt before. It swallowed him whole, gnawing at his mind.  Her smile, devilish to a core, spread her lips apart.

“Having a little trouble with that inner demon, dear?”

His teeth ached as a growl escaped his throat. His senses blackened out until a demon’s face etched itself into the darkness.  Claws extended from his fingernails, and his spine twisted.  Suddenly, d’Artagnan felt a wave of pain wash over him.

Her words echoed through his head, pounding into every dark corner of his mind. “That’s it.  Let it take over.  Let it consume your soul until nothing is left.”

He fell to his knees, clutching his throbbing head in his hands. His breath panted out growls so deep, the lad could swear it came from his toes. He could sense her stare on his skin, the last feeling upon him as his whole body numbed.  The world spiraled until darkness swallowed him whole.

* * *

 

Constance knew something was wrong the moment she tasted the air. Her heart jumped as a heavy honey smell circled around the room. She opened her door to find her kitchen empty, save for the untouched tea cups on the table.

“d’Artagnan?” She looked around the room, hoping he’d come out of hiding. His scent was weak, nowhere near the room in question, and strengthened over by the door. Constance opened it and glanced about the street.  Fear consumed her heart, stronger than she’d felt before, and she ran out into the streets. “d’Artagnan!”

d’Artagnan’s relaxing scent of pine needles and firewood lead her down the street.  She hoped he headed toward the pack, but a turn to her left lead her down the road toward the woods.  Of course, the poisonous honey trail grew stronger as well.  Constance picked up her dress and ran forward, opening her mouth a bit to taste the air.  Her nerves soared into uneasiness, and she picked up her pace. The trail wove between the trees, and she could tell only two people went down this way, and judging by the tainted air, only moments prior to her arrival.  The honey flavor mixed with another odor; something gripped her heart and melted her fear into anger. Blood roared in her ears, stifling her harsh breathing and rushed footsteps. The smell increased and nearly pushed her backwards. As Constance saw two silhouettes turn into people, she froze in her tracks.

d’Artagnan crouched on his knees, his hands gripping the sides of his head as he touched his forehead to the ground.  She could hear his harsh pants vibrate in her chest as yellow fangs protruded from his jaws.  Claws dug into his hair and caused small lacerations to form on his scalp.

Her instincts kicked in.  Constance rested her hands on his shoulders, trying to keep her fear at bay.  His shoulders stiffened under her touch; his pants quieted.  A shadow blocked out the sun above Constance, and she forced her attention up.  Demon eyes stared back at her and scorched her soul.

“I’d go home if I were you.  This is about to get rather messy.”

All emotion drained from Constance’s body except for the pure wrath pumping through her veins.  She jumped up and swiped an outstretched hand at the woman.  The lady dodged, and Constance reared her hand back for another swipe. Fingernails caught the surface of the stranger’s cheek and sliced the skin open. The woman cried out and backed up faster.  Constance matched her speed, pinning the woman’s shoulders down at her side.  A roar erupted from Constance’s chest, foreign to her own ears.

“You leave him alone!”

The woman’s eyes widened for a moment.  She soon returned to her poisonous expression and hummed. “Protective, aren’t we?”  Constance dug her claws into the woman’s shoulders.  Though her throat choked on the woman’s repulsing fragrance, she held her ground.  The woman picked her head off the grass to whisper in Constance’s ear.  “You better hurry. d’Artagnan can’t hold on much longer.”

Constance whipped her head around.  d’Artagnan struggled against the smell induced shift, his eyes glowing from gold to brown.  Constance took one more look at the woman before jumping off her.  Her hands glided to d’Artagnan’s shoulders, massaging the tense muscles underneath her fingertips.

“d’Artagnan.” She licked her dry lips. “d’Artagnan, you have to fight it.  Focus.”

 

> _Take in a deep breath. Close your eyes._

d’Artagnan willed his breathing to slow as Aramis’s words echoed through his mind.  He inhaled through his mouth first, then his nose.  Chestnuts and peppermint wiped away all traces of the sickening honey smell.  His eyes browned, and his mouth ached.  The growls subsided as the image of Constance’s smiling face entered his mind. Those beautiful blue eyes stared back at him with a warming smile.  Her hair draped over her shoulders, and she held out a cup of tea toward him.  The throbbing in his head stopped, but he still kept his head to the ground.  Muscle after muscle stretched into a relaxed position.  d’Artagnan focused on Constance’s circular movements with her fingertips, like the swirling smoke above a campfire.

“That’s it.” Constance’s voice was barely above a whisper.  “Come back to me, d’Artagnan.”

The Gascon in question looked up, his eyes wide.  Constance’s heart soared, and she hugged the man around the neck.  He tensed for a moment before circling his own arms around her waist and burying his nose into her neck. Her entrancing smell surrounded him, calming every muscle in his body.  He didn’t miss the way her own nose nuzzled against the nape of his neck as her hair rubbed against his cheek.

“I’m glad I caught you in time.” Her breath tickled his neck.

“Caught me.” d’Artagnan couldn’t stop the choked laugh that erupted from his chest. “You stopped me.  If it wasn’t for you-“

“Don’t even finish that.”

d’Artagnan pulled away and noticed how clear the air became.  His head looked from side to side as a growl rumbled through his chest. “She’s gone.”  Constance looked up and took in the air as well.  d’Artagnan continued. “Who was she?”

“I don’t know.  I’ve never seen her before.”

“She knew about us.  She knew everything.” His mind replayed how she knew his name without asking.

Constance didn’t miss the fear etched in his persona. “She can’t hurt us now. She’s gone.”

“But how long until she comes back?  We have to warn Athos about this.”

Her eyes studied his, and she nodded. d’Artagnan stood and helped Constance to her feet as well.  His arm wrapped around her shoulders, and she rested one of hers on his hips.  d’Artagnan tricked himself into believing it was nothing more than a friendly sentiment, even if his body told him he belonged at Constance’s side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, chapter 4 already! Let me know if you guys want to see anything happen, have any suggestions, or comments on the story in general.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Alpha peered over the side of the table to see Porthos massaging the spot on his side where Aramis was sliced open. A sigh left his breath as he sat back and met Porthos’s eyes. 
> 
> “You can’t protect him forever.”
> 
> “I can try.”
> 
>  
> 
> Or:  
> Porthos is never good at staying dormant when the people he cares about need him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is about 75% dialogue, hence why it looks so long but really isn't. I was a bit stuck as to how to write the second half, and I hope it didn't come off as horribly OOC. Let me know if anything bothers you.
> 
> Word Count: 3,653

Athos’s eyes followed Porthos as he took his time down the stairs. While Athos had volunteered to tell Treville how their mission went, Porthos made sure Aramis was actually taking his recovery seriously.  Needless to say, Porthos had to sit on the younger until he agreed to stay still.

“How is he?”

“He’s resting.  It’s healed, but now he has the blood loss to deal with.”

“I should’ve never left them alone.”

Porthos raised an eyebrow and took a swig of wine from the glass Athos presented him. “You can’t predict the future, Athos.”

“But I should’ve known.” Athos stared down at the wine in front of him.  He swirled it about in his hand and drew in a deep breath. “You don’t send a bitten to train a tenderfoot, especially if they don’t have their shifting under control themselves.”

Athos’s mouth drew in a breath, and for a moment, Porthos thought the Alpha wanted to say more.  The latter musketeer sighed and set his wine down with a heavy thump.

“Aramis knew what he was doing.  Shifting was his own choice; he knew the consequences. I told him not to.  You told him not to.  It was his fault that they were both hurt, not yours.”

Athos raised an eyebrow. Since when did Porthos speak about Aramis in that tone?  His eyebrows relaxed as realization set in.  The Alpha peered over the side of the table to see Porthos massaging the spot on his side where Aramis was sliced open. A sigh left his breath as he sat back and met Porthos’s eyes. 

“You can’t protect him forever.”

“I can try.”

The two locked eyes for a moment before Athos broke away. “Especially if we can’t figure out who’s been marking the territory in the woods.”

“I’ve been meaning to speak to the Court Pack about that.”

Athos glared at him. “No.”

“Just because-“

“I said no.” He took another gulp of his wine, emptying the glass. His hand reached over the bottle to pour more, and Porthos caught his wrist.  Athos was about to growl when Porthos gave it a slight squeeze.

“You forget who I once was there.”

“I remember.  Still, I don’t feel comfortable letting you go off on your own.” He took in a deep breath. “I’ll go.”

“You wouldn’t last five minutes.”

This time, he did growl, and he met Porthos’s challenging eyes as the hairs on the back of his neck rose.  The Alpha opened his mouth to say something when a feminine voice cut him off.

“Athos. Porthos.”

Two heads turned to meet Constance and d’Artagnan entering the clearing.  Athos studied how the two of them walked in with limbs intertwined around each other.

“We need to talk,” d’Artagnan said.  His eyes locked dead onto Athos’s eyes, making the latter’s eyebrows raise.

Constance picked up the conversation. “d’Artagnan was lead out into the woods by a strange woman.”

Athos deadpanned. “Sounds like fun.”

d’Artagnan continued. “She…” He lost his words and tried again. “She knew about me being a wolf.  She knew about all of us.  There was this scent…” He paused. “It was intoxicating and smelled like honey.” Athos’s body tensed as he sucked in a breath.

“That’s not what I smelled.” Constance wrinkled her nose.

Porthos turned to Athos, who went considerably pale. “ Hey ’Thos, you alright?”

The man in question stood up and walked away from the table, taking his wine bottle with him. Porthos called out after him, but the man was hell-bent on ignoring them.  He shut a door that lead to his room, and Porthos heard the lock click shut.  The latter sighed and shook his head, turning it back to the two before him.  His eyes scanned over the way they still held each other, and something clicked in his own mind. A grin slinked across his face, and he chuckled.

“Feeling a bit of a pull, are we?”                                                                                                                            

d’Artagnan and Constance looked at each other before breaking contact through both eyes and body.  Constance rubbed her arms while d’Artagnan cleared his throat. Porthos shook his head and continued.

“There’s nothing you can do about it.  Chances are you’ve already Soul bonded.”

“Soul bonded?” d’Artagnan raised an eyebrow, but Constance drew her lips into a tight line.

“I’m not Bonded to him.  I’m married to another man for goodness sakes.”

“That doesn’t matter.  You don’t just choose the person you Bond to.  It just sort of happens.”

d’Artagnan’s lips finally caught up with his mind. “What exactly is that?”

Porthos grumbled. “It’s-“ He moved his hands as if they’d produce the words for him. “When two people touch… no, when a person finds someone-“ Porthos’s eyes glanced over at Constance, hoping for some help. However, she seemed to be lost in her own thoughts. He growled and stood up.  “Follow me.”

Constance and d’Artagnan exchanged expressions before following Porthos.  He stopped at a door and knocked.  There was a bit of shuffling on the other side, followed by a quick ‘it’s not locked.’ Porthos sighed as his hand rested on the doorknob.

“Can’t he sit still for five minutes?” The musketeer opened the door to reveal Aramis lying on the bed, one leg casually thrown over the other knee, and a book in his hands.  He lowered the book with an innocent smile, but his expression faltered a bit as Constance and d’Artagnan came in the room.  He marked his book and placed it on the table, unfolded his legs, and stood up.

“Is everything alright?” He walked over to the three of them. “How’s your arm, d’Artagnan.”

“Healed.  But that’s not why we’re here.”

Aramis visibly relaxed and ran a hand through his hatless hair.  He could smell something was off, but he couldn’t exactly peg what it was. “Then what’s wrong?”

Constance’s face blushed as Porthos spoke. “d’Artagnan wants to know what a Soul bond is.”

Aramis’s smile brightened as he sat back on his bed.  “Have a seat. This could take a while.” Porthos sat next to Aramis, Constance took a chair by the bedside, and d’Artagnan on the floor. Aramis cleared his throat and began.

“A Soul bond is a magnetic pull, kind of like how a compass always points north, between two people.  It connects their emotions, thoughts, and physical feelings through this invisible string.  Usually, it’s between two people who are destined to be together, like soulmates.  They usually happen between two people who need their faults filled.  For example, someone who’s energetic and social may be Bonded to someone reserved and self-sufficient.  Usually you need this person to balance out your everyday life.”

d’Artagnan’s eyes widened. “And you think we’re,” he pointed between himself and Constance, “Soul bonded?”

“Oh, I know so.” His smile flashed with something, the same look he’d worn back at Constance’s house, and continued. “I saw it the moment you two touched each other.  There’s always this star struck look two Bonded mates get when they look at each other.”

“Speaking from experience?”

Porthos and Aramis both smiled.  The latter continued. “I’ve been bonded for the past three years or so.”

Constance’s eyebrows furrowed as a playful smile graced her lips. “You’re Bonded?  I find that highly unlikely.”

Aramis chuckled. “Just because I enjoy love doesn’t mean I can’t feel something stronger.”

Porthos rolled his eyes. “How many times have I heard that?” Aramis answered with a nudge to the other’s side, and Porthos shoved the younger on his shoulder. Aramis nearly fell off the bed, but caught his balance with a firm foot to the floor and let out a low snigger.

Constance’s eyes lit up like she finished a puzzle.  Her voice had a decisive tone to it, but it trailed off as she spoke. “You two are Bonded.”  Porthos and Aramis sent her a look, and Constance felt the urge to stick out her tongue.

d’Artagnan raised an eyebrow. “Is that even allowed?”

“The soul wants what the soul wants, d’Artagnan. Gender is merely something to define our bodies.  Souls, however, are genderless.”

d’Artagnan creased his brow and let that information sink in. “So, my soul is Bonded to hers, right? What does that mean, you know, for us?”

“You’ll be able to feel everything she does: love, hatred, anger, fear, happiness – the list is endless.  You’ll know when she’s hurt, and your body will feel the same torment.  You won’t be able to hold conversations with her without moving your lips, but you’ll be able to understand the other’s body language and draw conclusions. Not to mention they smell mesmerizing.”

Constance and d’Artagnan both looked at each other. Everything made sense, and he drew in a deep breath. “So, what now?’

“That’s up to you,” Aramis said. “Soul bonds are tricky and vary from person to person. Some require the two to be at each other’s sides every moment of every day.  Others simply want passing glances and tender touches.”  His hand rested on Porthos’s. “Sometimes it’s as subtle as keeping the other person sane.”

“I doubt my husband’s going to be happy with all this,” said Constance.

“If you’d just tell him about yourself in the first place-“

Constance cut Porthos off with a sharp glance. d’Artagnan furrowed his eyebrows and looked at Constance, who side-glanced at him and shook her head. He could feel fear creep up in his heart, and he chewed at his lip.  His body wished him to stand up and cradle her; he wanted to comfort her until that fear disappeared.  This is what Aramis was talking about.  This bond that connected him and Constance together was far out of his control, and d’Artagnan didn’t like the idea of losing control over something so serious, especially if it could hurt Constance in the end.  He sent her a reassuring smile, and the fear subsided a bit as her smile answered him back.

“The last thing I want to do is have my husband treat me like I’m a loon.  Or worse.” The last words hung about the air, choking all conversation from their throats.

“If he really loved you-” d’Artagnan couldn’t find the words to finish. His heart told him Constance was nowhere near happy with the man; though she put on a magnificent show to keep up appearances. 

Aramis reached over and put one of her hands in his. As he stroked the top of her hand, his voice whispered a soft reassurance.  “Trust me, I know it’s hard to be bonded to someone you cannot show affection to in the general public.  But if two souls want to be together, they’ll find a way on their own.  Trust the Bond to take care of you both, and Monsieur Bonacieux won’t even be a problem.” Constance’s shoulders visibly slacked, and she let out a soft sigh.  She nodded a quick ‘thank you’ as Aramis’s smile widened a moment.

d’Artagnan processed Aramis’s words. “So, we’ve got nothing to worry about?”

“I’m pretty sure you’ll still have to compete with Bonacieux for her free time,” Porthos spoke.

“There’s that,” said Aramis, “And you’ll have to be careful when you’re out in the field now.  Everything you feel, she’s going to feel.  And if you die-“ He cut off, his eyes going to the floor.  His lips drew into a tight line as he shook his head a bit.  d’Artagnan leaned forward, straining his ears, but Constance’s face slipped into a grim expression.

“That’s not going to happen,” Porthos said as he placed a hand on Aramis’s knee and gave it a squeeze.  “They’ll protect each other.”

“She’s not a soldier, Porthos. If he’s-“

“Then I guess I’m just not allowed to die, am I?” d’Artagnan’s voice cut through Aramis’s with confidence.  He sent a glance to Constance, who refused to meet his eyes. For a moment, d’Artagnan could’ve sworn he felt pride swell in his chest. He realized Constance met his eyes with a nod and a sad smile.  d’Artagnan smiled back; at least she had confidence in him.  Whether it was her soul or her own faith in d’Artagnan, she trusted him to keep his words.

“Allow us to help,” Aramis added, “And you’ve got nothing to worry about.” His attention turned back to Porthos, who stood and walked to the door.

“Any more questions and you can ask ‘Mis, yeah?”

Aramis raised an eyebrow, but nodded nonetheless. “Go ahead.”  There was a quick smile from Porthos, and the musketeer stepped out of the room with a firm close of the door behind him.

* * *

 

To most, this area remained the top most undesirable places to be in all Paris.  To be here was to admit that you sunk below the breaking point, and it was worse than death.  But to Porthos, this was home. 

Porthos made his way through the streets and did his best to ignore the stares from people above and below him.  His body was stiff, and his normal Musketeer uniform lay abandoned on his bed. The last thing he wanted to do was fight off an attacker before he made it to his destination. He could’ve sworn he saw yellow eyes staring at him from a rooftop, but he figured it was just a vigilante to make sure no evil entered their territory.

It was well known within the Court of Miracles that werewolves existed.  Heck, wolves had been running the area and keeping it safe for generations. That’s why no soldiers had been able to infiltrate the territory and exterminate the people that resided in it.  Of course, the people only spoke about them in legend; that’s how it was spread around France in the first place.  While many Parisians believed it was just stories to keep kids in bed at night, the Court flourished in its image and embraced their invisible protectors.

Athos had told him not to go alone, but there was too much at stake.  Not only did he have to protect Aramis, but he made a promise to keep d’Artagnan and Constance safe as well. That would be the only reason he’d ever ignore a direct order, and he hoped Athos would understand his choice. He could already picture Athos’s exasperated expression as Aramis tried to sweet talk their Alpha into believing this was the only way.  Porthos hummed to himself; Aramis’s honeyed words helped him in more ways than he wished to admit.

The musketeer raised his nose into the air and took in a deep breath.  Of course he was being tracked since he came in.  A grin covered his face as he huffed and shook his head. “You can’t hide from me, Flea.  I know your scent anywhere.”

A woman stepped out from the shadows, her eyes just as golden as her hair.  Her calculating expression scanned over Porthos’s body.  “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you in our territory.”

“Too long.” Porthos walked to her, and she held her ground. The smell of strawberries and milk reached his nose, and he took in a deep breath. “I’ve got something to discuss with your Alpha, Flea.”

“If it’s about that territory in the woods-“

“It’s not us marking it.”

Her lip curled up into a snarl. “That means there’s another pack moving in.”

“Aggressively.”

She nodded and led him through the streets.  Most of their journey was kept silent; the busy noises from the street and sour smells brushed between them. “You think you’d drop by to say ‘hi’ every once and a while.”

“Not my territory anymore, remember?”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t show up and remind me you’re alive.”

Porthos picked up the bitter aroma cutting off the strawberry scent, and he wrapped his hand around her arm. Flea stopped and stared up at him, her eyes burning a bright yellow before returning to their natural color.   He wanted to say more, but in his heart he knew how much his abandonment of the pack affected Flea.   She pulled out of his hand and stormed back down the street.  The two of them entered a room covered with the heavy scent of gunpowder and firewood.  A man sat in the shadows, only his yellow eyes visible in the dark.

“Well, you’re a sight for sore eyes, my friend.”   The man emerged from the shadows, his eyes trained on Porthos.

Porthos gave a curt nod. “Charon, I have a bone to pick with you.”

“Oh really?” Charon raised his eyebrow. “Now what on earth could an ex-member of my pack want with me? Perhaps you’d like to discuss the territory being marked in the woods. We had an agreement.”

“It’s not us marking the woods.” Porthos kept the growl in his throat at bay the best he could. “There’s another pack moving into the area.”

Charon mused over his words. “Have you smelled any of the wolves in Paris?”

“Not before.  Athos and I went out scouting the area earlier today.” The mention of his Alpha’s name curled Charon’s lips into a snarl. “No one was in sight, but the scent was heavy.”

“So, they’re still there.”

“Probably.”

Charon began to pace back and forth, his breaths coming out heavy through his nose. “The only reason I gave it up our claim on the woods is because it was your pack we were sharing with.”

“We’ll get it back.  Perhaps we can strike a deal with them.”

Charon growled. “I’m not making a treaty with those who claim what isn’t theirs.  Besides, I’ve always been better with my teeth than my words.”

Porthos knew Charon was a brilliant Alpha, but he was stubborn as a mule.  If things could be dealt with quickly, Charon would not hesitate to take that course, something he’d learned from Porthos’s example.  However, even Porthos knew this was too delicate a situation to rush into.  For one, they had no idea what the other pack was like or who it was run by; there could’ve been an armada of wolves, outnumbering them ten to one.

“Think this through.” Porthos took in a breath. “We wouldn’t want unnecessary bloodshed, yeah?”

Charon seemed to consider his words. “I’d negotiate if they weren’t taking over the territory. Their actions prove they’re not interested in hearing any peaceful words from us. Besides, I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

“Then let us help you.  I’m sure Athos will-“

“I’m not concerned with what your Alpha will do and what he won’t. I can deal with this problem on my own.”

Porthos growled. “War is not the answer.”

“Who said anything about war?” Charon’s gaze was sharp, but Porthos returned it with an undaunted expression.

At long last, Porthos exhaled. “No, it will be a massacre.”

Charon sighed and walked over to Porthos. He rested two hands on the man’s broad shoulders and made sure to hold a non-aggressive gaze. “My friend, I understand your concern. But this was our territory first. I will handle it.”

Porthos wanted to argue, but Charon’s squeeze on his shoulders stopped him. He shook his head and walked back the way he’d come. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Flea stood at the entryway of the door, leaning against the side of the wall. “Leaving so soon.”

Porthos decided to ignore the glare she sent him. “For now.”  His eyes met hers for a brief second as he passed her.

“Is that all we are now? Just some pack your Alpha sends you to when there is peace to be made?”

Porthos stopped in his tracks and his hairs bristled. “Flea-“

She held up a hand and began to walk away. “Don’t try to argue. I know where your loyalties lie now.”

He reached out and grabbed her wrist, and to his surprise, she didn’t put up a fight to get away. “Flea, you know I didn’t belong here as the Alpha.”

“Then why not let Charon take it without the challenge?  Could’ve saved yourself that scar.”

“Because he wouldn’t have accepted it that way.”

Her eyes studied him. “I could’ve talked to him.”

“There’s only so much a Bonded can do to persuade their mate.  Charon’s mind was already made up.” Porthos tried to keep her eyes trained on him, but she looked down at her feet.

“I was supposed to be Bonded to you.”

“You and I both know that’s not true.”

“If you didn’t leave-“

 “I asked you to come with.”

“And I asked you to stay.”

“You know I couldn’t do that.”

“Of course.  You were never happy here.” There was harshness to her tone that sent chills up Porthos’s spine.

“I did love you, Flea.  I loved you more than I could ever say.  But those days… it was the only thing I was happy with.”

Her lips turned into a slight smile, but it disappeared soon after. “I would’ve kept you happy.”

“You and I both know that’s not true.  I would always have an empty spot in my heart.”

“I wouldn’t abandon you because I was Bonded with Charon.”

He shook his head. “I saw the way you two looked at each other.  I couldn’t-“

“Couldn’t see me with any man besides yourself, I get it.” Her voice was quiet.  He snuffed and let her continue. “So, now you return to your pack and forget about us once again.”

“Something tells me we’ll be seeing each other soon.  Though I may be on the wrong side of the battlefield.”

She gave him a chaste kiss on the lips. “Be careful.”

Her eyes glinted with something unknown before she walked past Porthos. His voice echoed through the narrow street as he called out to her. “You too.”

Flea’s confident eyes met his before she disappeared back into Charon’s room.  Porthos shook his head and hustled down the streets of the Court, hoping Charon would rethink his choice for not only his own safety, but for the pack’s safety as well.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “When Constance stopped you from shifting before, you proved it’s possible.”
> 
> “That was different. This is the full moon. It’s beyond our control.”
> 
> “No shift is beyond control if you focus hard enough.” Athos sucked in a breath and put one hand on d’Artagnan’s sternum and one on his shoulder blades. “I’m going to teach you how to shift.”
> 
>  
> 
> Or:  
> Athos and d'Artagnan train in the woods, and the results surprise the both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just finished this chapter last night, so I apologize for any mistakes you may encounter. Feel free to point them out to me.
> 
> Word Count: 3,865

d’Artagnan stared up at the waxing gibbous moon outside his window. His heart sank as his mind counted down the number of days until the moon forced his body to shift. Porthos promised to keep him from hurting anyone should he need to, but d’Artagnan still couldn’t bring himself to admit this remained beyond his control.

Constance felt just as nervous as he did, judging by the way she constantly fiddled with her tea cup as they sat at supper.  Guilt crawled into his heart as he thought of their Bond and what he was doing to her. If he could stop it, he would, but Constance already vocalized it was in no way his fault. While her words brought some comfort, he still stared out his window and hoped she would not receive the consequences of his action.

The last person he expected to knock at Constance’s door near midnight was Athos. But lo and behold, here the musketeer stood, asking for d’Artagnan to follow him into the night. Paris had an eerie blue glow around it, keeping d’Artagnan on edge and watching every shifting shadow.  The hoots of owls deafened the crickets every once and a while, and he could smell the different animals emerging from their dens for their nocturnal parade.

The two walked into the woods as they’d done a few days ago and to the same clearing d’Artagnan tried to control his shift in.  d’Artagnan could still smell his and Aramis’s blood staining the ground below them, and he wrinkled his nose a bit. Athos stood in the clearing, his yellow eyes reaching a new kind of glow under the moonlight.  He ran a hand through his hair, and his voice came out as a whisper.

“Four days.”

d’Artagnan waited for him to continue, but only silence greeted him. The lad sighed. “I know.”

“You will learn to control this, even if it takes all night.”

“Athos-“

“You will.” His words were still soft, but nonetheless, they forced d’Artagnan’s jaw to snap shut.  Athos shrugged off his doublet and placed it on the ground.  “When Constance stopped you from shifting before, you proved it’s possible.”

“That was different. This is the full moon.  It’s beyond our control.”

“No shift is beyond control if you focus hard enough.” Athos sucked in a breath and put one hand on d’Artagnan’s sternum and one on his shoulder blades. “I’m going to teach you how to shift.”

d’Artagnan’s head whipped back to look at the Alpha, but he kept his words silent.  While he wasn’t bonded to Athos, he could smell a sort of calming aroma coming from the man.  While Aramis’s smelled of spice and forced his body to relax, Athos’s sweet wine fragrance seemed more intent on bringing his body to its own conclusion.  The Alpha continued in the same soft voice as before.

“In order to shift, you have to imagine yourself as a wolf.” d’Artagnan raised an eyebrow. “You’ve seen wolves before, so it shouldn’t be that hard to picture one.  Grab an image in your mind and go with it.”

“And your hands are on me… why?”

“I’m keeping your spine from breaking.”

d’Artagnan raised an eyebrow as he met Athos’s eye, which was dreadfully serious. The lad sucked in a breath and released it within a second. “Well, that’s comforting.”

“The first time’s the worst. Relax and it shouldn’t be so bad.”

d’Artagnan closed his eyes and took in a breath.  At first, nothing but darkness surrounded him.  The Gascon kept his temper at bay, willing his mind to imagine the black wolf that turned him the night of his father’s death.  Yellow eyes stared from the depths of the darkness, and d’Artagnan almost lost his focus.  A young looking wolf, slim and small built, emerged from the shadows.  Its muzzle was powdered white, as was its underbelly.  It seemed content with its tail swishing behind it in a rhythmic motion and kept yellow eyes trained on d’Artagnan. 

d’Artagnan’s spine cracked and Athos’s warm hands disappeared from his back.  His eyes snapped open to realize he was shrinking. Memories of his encounter with that honey scented woman circled in his mind.  If that was shifting before, why was this so painless? The next time he blinked his eyes, the cold grass tickled his stomach.  He looked around to realize he rested on his stomach.  His yellow eyes met powdered white and black paws in front of him, and he stood up.  He backed up, and he wore as a human slipped off his body and lay in a clump in the grass.  His muzzle protruded from his face, the same muzzle he saw on the wolf in front of him, and he spun around in a circle, his tail nearly touching his nose in the swift movement. The newly shifted wolf didn’t know whether to be excited or fearful.

“d’Artagnan.”

The wolf turned to face Athos, still in his human form and kneeling down on one knee.  d’Artagnan’s muscles froze as the urge to retreat clutched onto his mind. His lips drew back into a snarl, and instinct took over.  Athos’s face remained neutral as a hand reached out to stroke his head.  The wolf wanted to pull away, to bite the hand that stretched out toward him.  He bared his teeth in warning, and Athos let out a heavy breath.  Harsh words cut through d’Artagnan’s mind.

_He’s here to hurt you. Kill him.  No humans are good._

As the whisper encased d’Artagnan’s mind, his body began to tingle.  It scared him a bit, and he closed his eyes.  No.  No, this was all a trick.  Athos was a friend… _is_ a friend.  Not only a friend, but someone that wanted to help him.

Try as he may, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the man was here to hurt him.  He knew he was losing the battle again when his paws retreated on their own, their claws sinking into the dew covered mud beneath them. Still, Athos never budged from his spot in the grass.  His lips moved, but they produced no sound.  Darkness crept into the corner of d’Artagnan’s mind, blocking his control of his actions. 

_You must protect yourself. You must protect your pack. Kill him, d’Artagnan. It’s not hard.  That’s it.  Let me take over._

The words from that woman returned to his mind. He recalled the way Constance put her hands on his shoulder, shaking the voice away. Constance… the word brought her scent back to his nose like she stood beside him. He felt his pupils contract a bit as her smile brightened the dark corners of his mind.  The way her hands touched his own skin warmed his numb limbs and shook that horrible voice in his head away.  Athos’s words finally pierced the air.

“Focus. Keep your mind human.  You know I’m a friend; there’s no reason to defend yourself.”

His growl stopped like someone snapped a muzzle on him. d’Artagnan’s muscles relaxed as he stared into Athos’s blue eyes, his human eyes, and the lad sat down in the grass.  The Alpha’s wine and fresh bread scent swirled about him and reminded him of the day he first confronted Athos, confused and unprepared for the world he walked into.  A hand stroked the top of d’Artagnan’s head, right between the ears, and a wave of comfort washed over him.  Athos’s lips were wearing that tight line d’Artagnan could only summarize as Athos’s attempt to smile, and he stood up.

d’Artagnan’s heart began to beat fast. _How… Did I do it?_

“Yes.” d’Artagnan jumped as his eyes met Athos’s. “Relax. All wolves share a sort of psychic link within their pack. It helps us communicate when we’re within a short distance of each other.”

Of course; Aramis did the same thing not a few days ago. It just struck the lad how easily wolves could communicate.  A question burned his mind, and he was afraid to ask, but he realized too late Athos probably heard the thought before he wanted to speak it.

_But I thought wolves just howled when they wanted to talk._

“Howling is just mindless babble.  It’s more for signaling the pack when something’s wrong.” Athos started to walk deeper in the woods.  d’Artagnan followed, and he stumbled quite a few times since his limbs were still trying to figure out how to move as a wolf.  The scruff of fur on his neck danced around with each footstep.  Even under the cool moonlight, he was just as warm as he would be buried within the blankets of his bed.  d’Artagnan heard the wolf warning him to be careful, but he focused more so on the path they were traveling on.  It wasn’t easy at first, but keeping Athos’s human form by his side sure helped. 

 _Where are we going?_ d’Artagnan’s head glanced up at Athos, but the Alpha chose to ignore him.  He could smell the fresh spring water and the light trickle over the rocks.  The air dampened as they arrived, and the murky earth slid around under his paws.  He recognized it as the same spring he heard while training a few days before. The bushes soon gave way to an open area, and they were standing at the shore of a creek.  Athos sat on the side of it and folded his legs like a pretzel. d’Artagnan sat beside him at first, but he soon lay down on his stomach with his back paws surrounding Athos’s back.

“For the next three days, I want you to stay as you are.”

 _What?_ d’Artagnan’s heart leapt into his throat. _Athos-_

“Obviously our first approach didn’t work for someone with your temper.”

d’Artagnan’s head bowed down between his paws. _But, Athos, the full moon is in four days._

“Exactly.”

_I barely know how to control the wolf. What if it takes over in the next few days?_

“Then you’re going to wake up with a rather nasty headache.”  d’Artagnan let out a low whine, but a side glance from Athos silenced him. “I’ll stay with you. I’ve seen someone trained like this before, and while unorthodox, it worked rather well.”

_But, don’t you have duties to the Musketeers?_

“Don’t worry about it.” 

d’Artagnan’s ears perked up and he stared at the water. While Athos didn’t specify it, d’Artagnan was pretty sure the man dropped everything in his life to train d’Artagnan. Athos, who wanted nothing to do with anything pertaining to d’Artagnan’s training, would sit beside him for the next three days and teach him how to control his inner wolf.

_Why?_

Athos turned to the young wolf, his eyes studying yellow ones for a moment. He looked back at the water and shrugged his shoulders. “I’m bored.”

d’Artagnan would’ve smiled if he was still human.  He felt the wolf’s attention shift to a fish in the water and consider it lunch for a moment, but he kept himself grounded. Athos and he sat in silence, watching the moon reflect off of the water.  Every time he believed he lost himself to the wolf, he would smell the wine and bread and return to his human mind. It went on for hours until the moon sunk over the tree line. d’Artagnan’s eyes began to droop, and Athos wasn’t doing much better. He rested his head between his paws and allowed his eyes to drift shut.  A hand stroked his head, and he growled low in his throat.  His eyes snapped open and he wanted to pull away, but Athos’s firm hand on the back of his neck stopped him.

“Relax, d’Artagnan, and sleep.  Trust me to watch over you.”

The wolf inside him gnawed at his mind, trying to give d’Artagnan an excuse not to trust the man, but he kept a firm hold on the scent, like Aramis explained to him.  d’Artagnan’s eyes closed, and he took in a deep breath.  While his eyes rested, he could still feel Athos’s presence beside him, comforting the pup into a dreamless sleep.  His nose became painfully aware of the fish smell that surrounded him, and the stream seemed louder than before. Branches snapped in the woods as some sort of animal made their way through the woods, but every time his ears perked at the noise, Athos would stroke his fur and soothe him back to sleep.

Time must’ve passed while his eyes were closed, because the sun shifted to his right.  The pup raised his head to take in a sample of the air. Athos’s wine and bread smell vanished from the air around him, and d’Artagnan panicked.  The wolf inside him barked that the human abandoned him and wasn’t part of the pack, but d’Artagnan swallowed it. In the short time that he’d known the musketeer, he’d learned Athos didn’t break promises.  He didn’t break the promise that he would answer d’Artagnan’s questions, nor did he take back the statement that d’Artagnan would learn to control the wolf before the full moon rises. And he especially did not leave the wolves in his pack. 

d’Artagnan rose to his feet, scanning the trees.  He raised his nose in the air, trying to catch Athos’s scent, but it faded long ago.  Another smell took its place, one with an air of dominance surrounding it.  He growled and followed the scent down the stream, his paws picking up the pace as he flew over fallen logs and rocks in his path.  The scent grew stronger as he weaved within the trees, far from the river or the clearing where the two began their training. 

A black silhouette stood at the edge of the river, chewing on a fish still flopping around in its mouth.  It set the fish down in the grass and watched d’Artagnan come to a halt.  It raised its head high in the air, and yellow eyes stared straight into d’Artagnan’s eyes. d’Artagnan remembered the rogue wolves that they looked for a few days prior.  His lip curled up, and he hunched his head down low.  His mind screamed that an intruder entered their territory, and he needed to defend it, especially since his Alpha was not here to defend it himself.  A bark escaped d’Artagnan’s throat and his jaws snapped into a growl.  The other wolf didn’t move. 

* * *

 

_Breathe, d’Artagnan._

Where did this splitting headache come from? Why was he lying down?

d’Artagnan’s heart leapt up into his throat as he tried to get up, but strong teeth around his throat kept him down. d’Artagnan let out a low whine as the other wolf let go, and the pup stood up onto his paws.  The other wolf backed up slowly, its yellow eyes trained on him.

_Are you quite finished?_

d’Artagnan looked around for Athos.  He heard his voice, but the musketeer didn’t appear anywhere around him. The smell of wine and bread flashed into his mind much stronger than before. Following the scent lead him to the same black wolf that pinned him to the ground moments prior.  Its body stood a good two head’s height above d’Artagnan and while it wasn’t muscular, it didn’t look like something one wanted to mess with.  A white patch in the shape of a fleur-de-lis rested on its right shoulder.

 _Athos._ The wolf in question perked its ears. _What… what happened?_

_It took control._

d’Artagnan backed up as if he’d been bit. _N-no. I had control._

_If that’s your idea of control, we’re in more trouble than I thought._

_I had control!_

Athos stood and walked toward d’Artagnan. _What’s the last thing you remember?_

d’Artagnan ran the race through the woods through his head. He thought about how he saw the strange wolf before him, and Athos’s scent floated everywhere around him. He’d assumed the wolf was a member of the rogue pack invading the territory and then… nothing.  The pup shuddered. Is this what it felt like to lose control?  His mind flashed back to his battle with Aramis, and how the musketeer struggled with his own shift.  The lad could only imagine Athos felt the same as d’Artagnan charged at him in a blind rage.  Did Athos scream at d’Artagnan to stop as he did? Oh God, did he hurt the man? A quick sniff of the air revealed no blood.

_I’m fine. You can relax._

_How did I lose control so easily? I was able to chase it away in the woods when I wanted to hurt you before._

_That’s because I was human. You had something for your human mind to latch onto._

_Will it be harder to control, now that I’ve lost myself to it?_

_We all lose control from time to time. What matters is that we don’t lose to it while it’s stronger than us._

_The full moon._ Athos nodded his head. d’Artagnan’s head lowered a bit. _I’m not going to learn this before the full moon, am I?_

_If you focus, you will. We have two more days. Make the most of it._

* * *

 

Athos and d’Artagnan walked into the middle of the meadow.  d’Artagnan’s tongue hung over its side as he vented heat through his muzzle.  He plopped down in the grass and rested on his right side, loving the cool presence of the mud and grass beneath him.  Athos sat beside him and then rested into a laying position soon after.  The moon hovered above them as it peaked over the horizon.

d’Artagnan’s mind replayed the events that lead him here. Athos taught him how to hunt, and the experienced thrilled him just as much as a sword fight.  He almost lost control when he scented the blood from the freshly killed rabbit beneath his paws, but Athos never left his side and brought him back. 

They ran into the rogue wolf pack’s scent earlier this morning, but neither Athos nor d’Artagnan could track them into the thick forest.  Unlike before, Athos talked to him through the whole thing, keeping the wolf’s voice stale in his mind.

Speaking of the wolf, its voice faded more and more throughout the day. d’Artagnan didn’t hear it all evening, and he relished the moment. Perhaps it was possible to control your wolf within the three day timespan. His panting subsided as Athos spoke.

_You know, controlling the wolf isn’t possible in three days._

_What?_ d’Artagnan rolled onto his stomach, his ears flat. 

_Its voice is still going to haunt you after your first shift._

He couldn’t stop the growl in his voice. _Then what was the point of all this? Athos-_

 _I’ve given you the tools to control the wolf for tomorrow night.  It’s up to you whether you chose to use them or not._   Athos’s eyes glanced over to meet the yellow of d’Artagnan’s own.  The pup met it for a moment before looking back up at the moon.  He couldn’t feel the wolf’s voice within him at the moment; perhaps it was saving strength for tomorrow.

_Athos-_

The elder wolf perked his ears as he waited for the younger to finish, but no words came.  He sighed and looked up at the moon as well.

_You know, when I was your age, I had problems with my shifts too._

d’Artagnan snuffed. _You? Mr. In control?_

_You and I are a lot more alike than you think._

d’Artagnan tilted his head to the right a bit.  He wanted to comment more, but decided against it. The sound of the crickets surrounded them and filled in the long gap between their conversations.

_What happens tomorrow?_

_We all shift._

_No, I mean, is there some sort of ceremony or something? Do we all get together and hunt or something?_

_Oh yes. We are monsters after all._ d’Artagnan opened his mouth to speak when Athos interrupted him. _I prefer to stay in my room, actually.  It keeps me stable._

 _You mean we don’t_ have _to do anything?_

_You could always go for a run._

Athos stood up and shook his fur.  He took in a deep breath and closed his eyes.  Within a few moments, the once proud musketeer once again sat at d’Artagnan’s side.  As soon as the pup looked at him, he looked away, his eyes squeezing shut.  Of course he’d be stark naked when he shifted back into a human. When d’Artagnan shifted three days ago, his clothes lay abandoned on the ground. Athos disappeared from his side and to a nearby tree.  He pulled his clothing out from a bare tree stump and began to dress. d’Artagnan, after a moment’s pause, padded over to the man as well and examined it.  The bare oak showed no trace of clothing for him, and he wondered if he’d have to wander back through the streets of Paris as a wolf to save himself the embarrassment.

“Forget something?”

_Well, no one told me to bring some sort of extra clothing._

“I hid your belongings underneath a bush by the river.  We’ll return there and gather them up.”

d’Artagnan stretched out the toes of his paws. He became used to the feeling of the mud underneath his feet and fur flopping all around him.  Would he even know what it’d be like to walk on two feet again? The lad followed Athos once again through the star cladded night and to the meadow where his three days began.  Athos gathered d’Artagnan’s things. While a bit damp, they were still in the same condition as when he’d left them.

“Take in a deep breath and imagine your human self, much like you did the wolf when you shifted three days prior.”

d’Artagnan closed his eyes and stilled his thoughts. The next thing he knew, he sat in the grass as his normal self.  Athos turned away from him and examined the clearing for intruders. d’Artagnan dressed as fast as he could and cleared his throat to let Athos know he finished.  Athos didn’t turn; his attention remained on the darkness surrounding them.  A howl in the distance stiffened d’Artagnan’s muscles, and three more followed.

d’Artagnan’s jaw cracked as he spoke. “The rival pack?”

“Possibly.  They’re gathering somewhere within the woods, and I don’t want to be caught in the middle of it.”

Athos and d’Artagnan walked back down the path toward Paris.  It was just as silent as the days before, when d’Artagnan had no clue what awaited him in the next few days. Athos kept glancing over at the younger, as if the lad would fall apart at any moment.  The Bonacieux house had a candle lit above the doorway, and Constance rested outside the house.  Though her eyes were closed, her body tensed as d’Artagnan and Athos’s scents came into view.  Yellow eyes snapped open, and she stood up to straighten out her dress, her smile wide as her Bond mate and Alpha approached her.  d’Artagnan was just about to run to her when Athos grabbed his arm. The lad turned to him and opened his mouth, but Athos beat him to it.

“Get some rest, d’Artagnan. Tomorrow, the real test begins.”

And as quickly as Athos walked up to him, he disappeared down the street toward the garrison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the calm before the storm. See you all on Sunday!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Porthos smiled back as Aramis’s nerves spiked another ten notches. The two made their way out of the garrison as other musketeers rushed here and there, oblivious to the torment the full moon would impose on the duo.
> 
> Aramis began the conversation. “It’s going to be a beautiful night.”
> 
> To anyone else’s ears, it would seem like a casual observation of the night to come, but to Porthos’s, it sounded like a broken prayer. 
> 
>  
> 
> Or:  
> It's the full moon and everyone's on nerve's end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I'm sorry this chapter is so late. I visited a friend over the weekend and our bonding time lasted longer than I expected. She sends her condolences as well.
> 
> I also won't get the next chapter out until Sunday. School starts next week, and my teacher mode is in full activation. So, I'll see you all on Sunday.
> 
> Oh, and this is where the plot really starts picking up. I hope you're ready~
> 
> Word count: 3,958

Full moons were Porthos’s forte from the moment he was born. In fact, the man relished in the power the full moon granted his wolf. He loved the feel of the wind flying between his burnt brown fur, the way his claws gripped the earth as he sprinted through the fallen trees that belonged to his pack, and the rush of satisfaction when the other members of his pack ran beside him.

Now the full moon only brought dread.  Not so much his own, but being Soul bonded definitely had its drawbacks.  He stared at the man seated across from him, his fingertips massaging his thigh muscles in attempt to calm himself. No matter what Porthos thought, the gut wrenching feeling always returned like clockwork.

The musketeer’s eyes glanced up at the window; the sun slipped over the buildings and cast a magnificent array of colors into the sky. He would’ve thought it peaceful had it been any other day.  The man stood up and stretched his arms over his head, letting out a low grunt as his back popped.

“Time to get going, yeah?” Haunted brown eyes drifted up toward him, and Porthos drew in a breath.  No matter how many times he prepared himself for that look, it always tried to suck the life out of him. “You know, ‘Mis, it’s going to be the same as every other night.”

“I know.”

Porthos walked over and took Aramis’s hand, guiding the man to his feet.  Aramis chewed on his lip, keeping his distance from the taller man, though Porthos could tell every instinct on his face wished Aramis to melt into his Bond mate.  The younger musketeer pushed past him and walked over to the door, and his lips attempted to curl into a smile.

Porthos smiled back as Aramis’s nerves spiked another ten notches.  The two made their way out of the garrison as other musketeers rushed here and there, oblivious to the torment the full moon would impose on the duo.

Aramis began the conversation. “It’s going to be a beautiful night.”

To anyone else’s ears, it would seem like a casual observation of the night to come, but to Porthos’s, it sounded like a broken prayer. Porthos nodded in agreement and cleared his throat.

“Feel like camping out under the stars myself.”

“Porthos, my friend,” Aramis patted the taller man between his shoulder blades. “That sounds like an excellent idea.”  His hand rubbed a small circle before slipping to his side as a confident shadow returned to his face. “Should we invite Athos and d’Artagnan?”

“You know Athos hates camping unless we absolutely have to.”

“I know, but I would love to see him chase squirrels up a tree again.”

A voice in the shadows caught his ear. “Like you have any right to talk with the way you terrorize birds.”

Aramis spun around and laid eyes upon Athos, casually leaning against a pillar and staring at them with as close to a smirk as they ever got out of the man. 

“Athos,” Porthos’s voice thundered through the empty space. “How was the mission?”

“Hopefully a success.  Only time will tell.”

The two of them marched over to Athos and kept their voices in a whisper.

Porthos beat Aramis to the question. “Is he able to control it?”

“As good as he ever will in three days.”

“Where is he now?”

“I left him with Constance.  He wanted to reassure her that he is safe before you take the two of them into the woods.”

Porthos sucked in a breath as Aramis shook his head and spoke. “He is better off with Constance than any woods we can provide him with.”

“Especially with the way they flitter about each other,” said Porthos.

Athos’s eyebrows headed for his hairline, and he opened his mouth to speak but closed it soon after. His eyes clicked with the same information Porthos gained a week prior, and he looked between the two of them. “They’re Bonded.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t notice sooner,” Aramis said as if it was common knowledge.  A glare from Athos sent the younger into a fit of soft giggles.  Athos’s grimace softened into a look of why-do-I-even-put-up-with-you and melted into his ever so famous I’m-really-not-drunk-enough-for-this sigh.

“It’s bad enough I have to watch the two of you. Now I got a puppy love to look after.”

“On the bright side, it should be a rather refreshing interaction.”

“Good, because watching you two is like eating the same stale bread every day.” He tipped the brim of his hat before he pushed off the pillar and walked toward his room, leaving Porthos and Aramis still laughing.

Porthos called after the man. “You’re staying in your room tonight, yeah?”

“As always,” Athos said and kept his gaze forward.

“Take pity on the wine,” said Aramis. With a turn of his heel, he exited the Garrison entryway with his head held high. Porthos didn’t realize it at first, but his Bond mate relaxed through the casual conversation. He followed behind him, his steps twice as long as Aramis’s, and the two headed off for the woods.

“Shouldn’t we get Constance?” Aramis asked as he looked over toward Porthos.

“You really think it’s a good idea to have two bitten wolves in the same area, especially if one’s freshly turned and might not consider us part of their pack yet?”

“Well, when you put it like that.”

“I’ve already told Constance we’re not going to shift with her this time. She agreed to keep d’Artagnan safe.”

Aramis’s heart fluttered.  He knew d’Artagnan was more prepared for his shift than Aramis was, but the idea of him shifting in Paris sent his nerves ablaze.

“Where are they going to shift then?”

Porthos fell silent for a moment. “She didn’t say.”

* * *

 

Constance’s hand shook as she set the piping hot tea down in front of d’Artagnan. The lad smiled, took it with calculated fingers, and tried to keep his own hand from shaking as well. Constance sent him a smile and sat beside him, stirring her own tea into a slow whirlpool.

“Only a few more hours,” she said with a forced chipper voice.

“I know.” d’Artagnan wasn’t as worried as the night before, but he still couldn’t shake the nervous vibrations from his limbs. He knew it came from Constance; she didn’t see the control for herself and doubted she could do anything to keep d’Artagnan from hurting anyone.  He reached out a hand and stroked her free one with his thumb. Her blue eyes glanced over and caught his. “Relax, Constance. We’ll be fine. _I’ll_ be fine.”

“But what if-“ The words died on her lips. He gave her hand a quick squeeze.

“I won’t. Athos wouldn’t have let me come back if I would hurt you.”

“I know. I just… I’ve seen the shift of bitten wolves on a full moon before.”

d’Artagnan took in a breath before he spoke. “Are you a bitten?”

Constance shook her head. “My dad was a wolf, but my mother wasn’t.  I’m a half-breed.”  d’Artagnan tilted his head to the side a bit. “My dad abandoned his pack to elope with my mother.  He did his best to hide our shifts from her, but she eventually found out and left us.” Her voice trailed off. D’Artagnan could see the thoughts reeling in her mind. He nodded his head, sat back in his chair, and ran a hand through his black hair.

“So, do you have any issues with the shift?”

She laughed. “No.  My wolf voice is… nonexistent.  Half bred werewolves are a classification all their own. Purebreds are gifted with the full powers of a werewolf. Bitten wolves have their blood taken over by the wolf blood itself. Half breeds still have human blood running through their veins, and therefore have better control over the wolf blood inside of them. I can only shift during a full moon, unlike other wolves who can invoke their wolf forms.”

“Sounds like you have the sweeter deal out of all of us.”

“If you mean not having the fear of losing yourself to an inner monster, yes.”  She turned to look out of the window again and drew in a deep breath. “We usually shift together as a pack.”

d’Artagnan’s eyebrows twitched with the change of subject. “Where do you usually shift?”

“Out in the woods. Aramis keeps better control when they’re in solitude.”

“So, why aren’t we there?”

His words met only silence.  Constance’s eyes fixed on the window; her mouth hung open as her eyes widened.  “It’s early this year.”  d’Artagnan jumped from his seat to get a better look outside of the window.  The peak of the moon stretched over the houses, and he heard Constance suck in a deep breath.  “We shift when the moon rises above that building.”

“We’ll never make it to the woods.” d’Artagnan backed up.  Constance flew to his side right away, cupping his face with her gentle hands and forcing him to look into her eyes.  Her words shook.

“You’re going to be okay.  I won’t let anything happen.  I chose this as our place to shift.”

“Why?”

“Familiar things, remember?” She smiled. “It will help you gain control.” The thought of him ripping through Constance’s house swallowed his mind. He snuffed and looked down at his feet. 

“Familiar things… like what?”

“Our home. My scent.  Our Bond.” A word hung at the tip of her tongue as she leaned into him, her lips barely brushing his.  Her heart rate spiked and her head retreated ever so slightly.  d’Artagnan whined and diminished the space she left between him, his nose brushing past hers. Her sweet scent protruded from her neck, and he took in a deep breath.  Constance took that as her signal and closed her eyes.  Warm lips came up to meet him the rest of the way.

The innocent kiss lasted maybe five seconds, but it was enough to bring peace between the two parties.  d’Artagnan wasn’t overcome with lust, but something stronger. His mind still took control of the situation, remembering he had a married woman in front of him. From the way her eyes fluttered open, he knew she had the same reservations as he did, and it was not a moment of desire but more so an intimacy both of them needed: the feeling that someone cared and watched out for them.

d’Artagnan half smiled and put his hands in hers.  Her pupils were contracted, calculating the amount of power he felt during their brief interaction.  After a gentle squeeze of her fingers, he let his hands slip away to look up at the full moon once again. It must’ve been minutes before the luminous orb would protrude from the back of the building, and d’Artagnan felt his teeth ache.  As he turned to Constance, her eyes turned yellow and more wolf like than he saw before. The pupils in her eyes narrowed, and he watched as they elongated into carefully constructed slits.  Her fingertips reached up to stroke long canines growing from the inside of her mouth, and she drew in a sharp breath.

Her body emitted distressed pheromones and sent d’Artagnan’s mind reeling.  He felt a protective rumble in his chest as the edges of his sight darkened.  All that remained in his mind was Constance: the way she grit her teeth, the way she lowered to her knees on the floor, and the way her hands wove into her hair. 

“I thought you said it didn’t take over.” d’Artagnan growled as his head began to pound.

“It doesn’t,” she said through clenched teeth “but that doesn’t mean it’s painless.”

d’Artagnan took in a sharp breath and brought his hands to his arms.  His back cracked, the same way it did when Athos held him, but this time it shot pain through his whole body. He let out a yelp and fell to his knees, his forehead touching the floor. Constance let out a panicked noise in front of him, but he knew she was in no condition to come to his side no matter what she wanted.

“Breathe.  You’re going to be okay.”

d’Artagnan could hardly hear her voice over the rush of blood in his ears. His bones twisted and popped into place.  His vision replaced solid objects with fuzzy blobs like he looked through water.  Dark circles spun around in his gaze, and for a moment, the world disappeared.  A voice echoed in his mind, soothing him to release all tension and relax. Had it not been for his three days of experience, he would’ve believed the voice tried to help him.  Constance’s words sounded as if she shouted from the other side of the city. Smells and natural sounds faded into blackness, and all he could hear was that taunting voice in the back of his mind.  Fear welled up in his chest as he brought his head back into a howl.

He was losing the battle.

* * *

 

Constance endured many of her shifts outside of her house and usually in the comfort of Porthos and Aramis’s presence.  Being at home didn’t seem right, but she knew they’d never make it to the woods for their shift, and leaving now would only hurt those around them.  Or worse.

She shook the thought from her head as her hands fell from her forehead. Her freshly formed paw pads froze under the cool wooden floors, and she turned yellow eyes to gaze upon d’Artagnan. Her chest heaved; an empty void filled in her heart.  If she shifted alone, she would’ve thought nothing of it. However, she knew the feeling prior to being Bonded.  d’Artagnan was there but not all at the same time.

_d’Artagnan…_

Her voice was barely above a whimper, and she padded over to the black wolf in front of her.  Her nose buried into the side of his neck, and he stiffened at her touch.

_d’Artagnan, it’s just me.  It’s Constance._

The wolf flicked its ear toward her, and a huge gulp of air entered its lungs.

 _Yes!  I’m here.  I’m right here._   She licked the side of his head three times and rubbed up against him, her tail swishing behind her. _I’m not leaving you, d’Artagnan. Don’t leave me._

His scent returned, and that beautiful smell of pine needles surrounded her.  Her heart pounded against her rib cage. 

 _I’m not… going anywhere._   A powerful wave of confidence washed over the both of them, and Constance pulled back to see eyes more yellow than black staring at her.

_You did it. You pushed it back._

He pressed his forehead to hers. _We.  We pushed it back.  Bond mates keep each other sane._

She let out a light bark as she licked the side of his muzzle. d’Artagnan was safe and in front of her, and she’d be damned if he slipped away again.

* * *

 

Athos always trusted his pack during full moons.  He knew Porthos would take care of Aramis through their Bond, and Constance wasn’t a worry from the day she set foot into his life.  Shifting out in the woods brought a primal instinct out in him, and Athos did better secluded in his room without the thought of losing himself.  And he really didn’t want to wake up with a dead squirrel nestled in his paws again.

Honestly, he’d rather spend his shifts in a drunken stupor than huddled with his pack.  He knew it was selfish, but the wine helped him keep contact with his human self, and they all knew it as well.  He brought the bottle to his lips once again as the moon rose to its metamorphosing position. Instead of waiting for his body to surrender to the moon, he transformed on his own. The rays of the moon sent a cold chill through his spine, and he shook his fur.  Golden eyes stared out the window for a moment before returning to the dish of red wine he set out for himself.

His nose twitched as he lapped at the wine, and he drew his head back. At first, he thought he imagined it, but d’Artagnan’s words from the days before spun his head around in circles.  Instinct wanted him to curl into a ball and cower in the corner.  It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t.

That haunting honey fragrance floated into his room and teased his senses.  No, not honey; that was how she covered her scent. What he smelled stained his senses and sent his mind reeling: jasmine.   

He stood his ground, knowing it was farther away than he thought, but it brought back vicious memories all the same.  His heart pounded in his rib cage at the thought of her smile, her touch, and her perfume. He longed for it, and his wolf did as well.  It backed his body up into a corner, whimpering like a lost puppy, and cowering in the corner.

What a coward he was.

The thought of his pack alone and vulnerable while she ran around startled him from his fear. A growl ripped through his throat at the thought of her touching any one of them during their vulnerable state.  He stood up, but fought back the instinct to protect his pack. They could protect themselves better on their own than with him having a mental breakdown beside them.

Oh God, was he a coward.

_Oh, come on Athos. Don’t you miss me?_

His head shot up as he breathed in the heavy scent. No, he banished her from his pack the day he stood by and allowed her to swing from a tree.  There’s no way he could communicate with her like this.  He shook the voice away, dismissing it as just an echo of past words. That’s one branch of sanity he wouldn’t lose tonight or ever again.

* * *

 

If the crickets didn’t play their peaceful song tonight, Aramis would’ve sworn the tranquility was a façade. Porthos lay beside him, just as peaceful as the day before.  He briefly struggled with his inner wolf, but Porthos eased him out of it by resting his head on Aramis’s and cradling the younger into a sense of peace.  Soul bonding had to be the best thing Aramis ever did, even if it wasn’t intentional.  It definitely brought stability to his human side while it searched for something to cling on to.  This was the motive for Soul bonds to in the first place: to bring the other person back to the world of the living during a time of distress.  It formed from the primal instincts of wolves to protect one another and grew into something stronger than human love.

Shakespeare had nothing on this.

Porthos raised his head in the sky.  He took in a deep breath, recognizing the heavy scent of gunpowder and firewood.  And by the smell of it, the whole Court Pack made their way into the woods.  His heart yearned to run with the mates from his old pack, but he shook the wolf’s prayer away.  Aramis didn’t seem bothered by the new smell, since Porthos had all but lay on top of the younger wolf and surrounded him in his scent.  Still, Aramis’s muzzle sniffed the air and let out a low growl.

_Easy, ‘Mis.  It’s just the Court Pack. They won’t hurt us._

Aramis’s muscles relaxed below him, and he let out a long sigh.  _It’s their territory._

_Our territory._

A howl broke the silence and caused both heads to pop up.  Porthos’s whole body tensed as he stood onto his paws.  The inevitable echo of Flea’s call sounded through the woods, followed by another he didn’t recognize.  His heart leapt into his throat.

No. Charon wouldn’t be that stupid.

Sure enough, snarls and barks ricochet through the woods. Aramis rose to his paws as well now, his body trembling. 

_The rogue pack. It’s them.  They’re invading the territory._

Porthos brushed his head up against Aramis’s side, trying to will the human back into control.  He heard the snarl rip through Aramis’s throat, and he grabbed the scruff of the younger’s neck before he could lash out. Aramis yelped and tumbled back as Porthos drug him to the ground, sending the two of them into a mix of limbs and paws on the ground.  He felt his side burn from the impact on the grass, but his mind pushed it away. Any moment of hesitation dashed his chances of keeping Aramis’s wolf dormant.  His own wolf warred with him; his loyalty may be with his new pack, but the Court Pack was home. But, if he went off to see what happened, who knows what Aramis would do or how it would affect him.

 _I know._   _Relax, Aramis. They can’t hurt you.  They can’t hurt me.  We’re all safe._

_Athos-_

_The pack isn’t even in the woods.  Leave the other pack alone._

_But-_

_Sleep, ‘Mis. You’ll feel better in the morning, yeah?_

Porthos lay his head on Aramis’s neck once again. He could feel Aramis’s brain split in half, his body wishing to do one thing but his conscience another. His scent mixed with Porthos’s own into a tangle neither of them could recognize. Porthos whined as Aramis fought to stand up straight.  He slipped through Porthos’s grip, but fast reflexes pinned Aramis back in his place.  Aramis moaned in protest, but his body eventually succumbed to exhaustion. Porthos let out a heavy sigh as Aramis’s eyes slipped closed. 

Eventually, the battle that raged among the trees died down, and the heavy stench of blood spilled into the air. All Porthos could do was hope no harm came to any of his old pack mates as he finally rested his eyes.

* * *

 

“Porthos.”

The man in question cracked his eyes open.  He could feel the sun’s warm rays on his bare body and helped stir him from peaceful slumber. Aramis still lay beside him, his chest rising and falling with each breath. His nose rose in the air, trying to scent who approached. The stale blood from the battle last night still filtered through the trees.

“Porthos.”

The voice woke Aramis from his sleep, and he ran a hand over his face.  With a yawn, he spoke,  “Is someone-“

Porthos put a finger to Aramis’s lips as he strained his ears.  Aramis raised an eyebrow, but froze when he heard a pained grunt from the bushes beside them.  The voice definitely aired on the feminine side. 

A bloodied figure stumbled out into the clearing, clutching their right side and pale from blood loss.  Porthos’s ears rushed with blood as he took in the feminine curves before him.  A deep gash ran up her right side from hip to breast. A cut rested on her temple, but the wound looked like it almost healed.  Blood caked her hair to the side of her neck.

Aramis sucked in a breath from his side. Porthos stood to his feet and made his way over to the blonde woman, his eyes wide.

“Flea, what happened to you?”

Stupid question, he thought to himself. At this moment, he expected a snarky comment, but her eyes opened to reveal hollow dark pools staring back at him.

“We… Charon…” Her voice didn’t even reach a whisper. Her hand pressed down on her side as Aramis knelt beside her to examine the damage.

“Flea-“ Porthos allowed his words to die on his lips.

“He’s dead.”

Flea’s eyes slipped closed.  Her body tumbled forward and strong arms caught her before she hit the ground.  Porthos sucked in a heavy breath and processed her words. Sometime during the night, the Court Pack lost its Alpha.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athos froze, and d’Artagnan ran into his back. Constance gasped and her hand covered her mouth. The Gascon peeled himself away from Athos and stared into the clearing.
> 
> Bloody bodies lay everywhere. Some were broken beyond repair, and many vacant eyes stared toward the sky. d’Artagnan heard Athos swallow beside him as he walked into the clearing.
> 
> “Search for any survivors,” he said, though d’Artagnan heard ‘make sure Porthos and Aramis aren’t here.’ 
> 
>  
> 
> Or:  
> Athos, d'Artagnan, and Constance enter the woods and find something out of a horror picture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter gets a bit gory. If you've got issues with descriptions of death, dismemberment, or likewise, I'd advise you to read with caution.
> 
> Thank you for your patience. I want to reward you all with another chapter tomorrow, but I'm unsure if I will be able to finish it in time. I have it started, but my editing process is rather rigid.
> 
> That being said, I may go to posting once a week, most likely on a Sunday, since school is starting up and I have a classroom to run. I hope you'll all bear with me.
> 
> Word count: 3,837

d’Artagnan cracked his eye open as light filtered through the window.  His chest was unusually heavy, and his whole left side radiated warmth.  The arm pinned to the ground cradled something equally as warm, and a twitch of his fingers revealed the next spot to be quite cold.  He raised his head up into the air and his chin met wild auburn hair.  The lad blinked and set his head back down.  It took a moment for his body to catch up with his mind, and he stiffened.  His head looked around and his eyes did their best to take in every detail.  He lay on the floor of Constance’s bedroom, bare as a new born babe.  The bed looked untouched, and his muscles didn’t want to cooperate with the stiffness running through them.

Her hair shifted as a light moan sounded off. Bedhead rose off d’Artagnan’s chest, and he found himself looking into Constance’s blue eyes.  For a moment, her lips pulled into a dazed smile, until she realized who lay underneath her. Constance jumped back as if bitten and yelped.  He sprung up and wanted to reassure her nothing happened, but his lips froze. 

“For God’s sake, close your eyes!” Constance drew her legs close to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs.

d’Artagnan did as instructed and backed up a bit farther. He straightened up, and his head banged against the bottom of a table. Something glass wobbled and toppled over on the table, and water rained down on his lap. Hands flew up to clutch his now throbbing head.  His teeth grit together as he heard her feet slide on the floor as she tried to stand.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” He did his best to sound neutral, but his voice betrayed him.  The sound of fabric shifted in front of him and hours seemed to pass before someone placed a warm hand on his kneecap.

“You can open your eyes now.  Come out so I can look at your head.”

d’Artagnan’s eyes cracked open. Constance picked up the accursed tiny table and placed it to the left.  Fingers wove through his hair until it hit tender flesh, where a small bump started to appear. d’Artagnan held onto the twitch his muscles wished to expel as she massaged her fingers over his scalp.  Her touch warmed his core, and his body relaxed like his mother kissed a skinned knee.

Constance said, “There.  Now, how about you get dressed and I’ll make breakfast.”  She didn’t wait for d’Artagnan’s reply and strolled out of the room.  The door closed, and d’Artagnan’s only company spun around in his head.  The quick glance of Constance’s bare skin stuck in his mind.  She was absolutely beautiful with her soft curves, fair sized breasts, and strong calf muscles. The warmth she left on his skin this morning began to tingle as the cold air sapped it away. d’Artagnan rose on shaky legs, making sure he knew where the blasted table stood, and looked around.  He peeked out the door and heard Constance humming in the kitchen.  Their bond tethered her emotions to him and emitted excitement, nervousness, and compassion. He smiled as he snuck into his room and closed the door behind him.

His heart beat in his chest as he slid on his breeches.  The more his mind revolved around her, the more he wondered. Was it really just a Soul bond between the two of them?  The lad always felt right in her company, like he belonged at her side.  He wanted to hold and protect her from any dangers that dare bring misfortune to her.  His hands longed to weave in her hair and stroke his fingers through soft brown curls. While their kiss the day before carried a sweet meaning behind it, his lips tingled with a numbness only hers could bring life back to. This would have earned himself a lover in the past.  As soon as the thought reached his mind, he shook his head; Constance was married for God’s sake.  Even if he did feel something for her, it wouldn’t happen.

Of all the rotten luck.

d’Artagnan finished dressing and walked out into the kitchen.  Constance still stood at the stove, but a cup of warm tea sat on the table and awaited his arrival. d’Artagnan took a seat and brought the warm liquid to his lips. It soothed his dry throat and comforted the cold his body succumbed to sometime during the night.  Constance turned to him, her cheeks rosy as ever, and set a plate of bread and jam in front of him. He offered a smile before she sat down in her own chair and chewed at her lip.

“Nothing happened,” he said.  Her teeth stopped gnawing at her lips before snapping together.  He furrowed his eyebrows and tilted his head a bit. “Constance, nothing happened… right?”

As she drew in a breath, a knock sounded at the door. Constance excused herself and strode over to the welcomed distraction.  d’Artagnan’s head followed her; his heart increased tempo with each of her steps.  She took in a breath before opening the door. 

Athos tipped his hat. “May I come in?”

“Of course.” Constance stepped back and allowed the man entrance.  He removed his hat and glanced over in d’Artagnan’s direction.  Bloodshot eyes held d’Artagnan’s own before Athos broke the stare and came into the kitchen. Constance followed behind, asking if he’d like anything, and the musketeer shook his head.

“You look horrible,” said d’Artagnan. Athos sat in the chair beside d’Artagnan, but didn’t acknowledge the lad spoke. Constance looked over at d’Artagnan, her eyes clearly giving him a warning of some sort. He tried again. “Athos, did something happen last night?”

“He’s probably too tired from shifting last night,” Constance spoke.  “I imagine he stayed up all night waiting to make sure we were alright.”  She poured him a glass of wine, which he took with pale fingers. d’Artagnan could smell the tension rolling off the man.  His mind circled around the smell, and goose bumps prickled onto his skin.

Finally, after a long gulp of wine, Athos spoke. “Did everything go well last night?”

d’Artagnan opened his mouth to answer, but Constance beat him to it. “He shifted without a problem.” Her voice sounded as if she wished to continue, but her lips didn’t move. d’Artagnan wrinkled his eyebrows as Athos’s traveled up toward his hairline.

“Constance, did everything go well?”  His voice definitely portrayed the tense signals he sent out. Constance’s heart rate increased as she poured more tea for herself.

“I… we may have hit a bit of a snare.” She gathered her thoughts. “There was a howl out in the woods. It startled the both of us.  d’Artagnan… his wolf took control for a bit.”

d’Artagnan sucked in a breath. He skimmed his memories, trying to bring his mind to that moment, but nothing submerged. Athos’s face remained neutral, as if he already knew the story.  He looked down at the table before taking another gulp of wine, and gave a single nod of the head.

“Continue.”

Constance played with her fingers. “I did my best to keep him under control, but he got through the door.  I… I followed him the best I could and tracked his scent, but there were so many other scents,” Her nose crinkled at the memory, “and I lost him.”

Athos pinched the bridge of his nose. Constance muttered a quick ‘I’m sorry’ that d’Artagnan’s ringing ears barely picked up. He waited with bated breath for her to continue.

“He ran out into the woods.  The smell of blood was everywhere. Through it all, I-“ Her words cut off. “There was a fight in the woods.”

Athos’s eyes widened as he stood up.  His chair scraped against the ground and fell backward; Constance and d’Artagnan both jumped. Without a word, the man scurried over toward the door and yanked it open. Constance called after him, but the slam knocked her words away.

“What was that about?” d’Artagnan asked. Constance looked at him and back at the door.  Her eyes widened with sudden realization, and it hit d’Artagnan at the same time.  They raced toward the door and followed Athos as quickly as they could.

* * *

Athos’s mind writhed with dread.  He heard the broken cries in the night, but none of them he recognized.  He assumed it involved the rogue pack, and he was too preoccupied with the smell that lingered in his room to investigate.

Of course he should’ve checked on the other two first.  Of course he should’ve gone out into the woods when he heard the fighting. Aramis was just as unstable as d’Artagnan, even if it was the lad’s first time shifting.  He replayed the night’s echoes in his head. The cries of his pack didn’t reach his ears, but it didn’t mean they weren’t somehow involved. His mind circled around the idea of his two pack mates lying on the ground bleeding out from some godforsaken wound.

No. He shook his head. No, they’d take care of each other. They wouldn’t submit themselves to such a thing. Oh god, why didn’t he go after them when he heard the first battle cry?

_How pathetic, Athos.  You can’t even protect yourself, yet alone the ones you love._

Athos’s face blanched; Anne had been right all these years.  Of course she had.

He shook the words away with a growl.  Her antagonizing voice stuck with him even to this day. Footsteps echoed behind him, but Athos dare not slow down.  He continued through the streets, following the familiar path toward the woods. Constance and d’Artagnan called his name, but he didn’t acknowledge their presence until a hand grabbed his shoulder.

“Athos, will you slow down,” Constance asked.

d’Artagnan added, “What happened?”

Athos continued his pace. “Aramis and Porthos didn’t return to the garrison.”

Constance’s eyes widened. “No, you don’t think-“

“I’m going to find out.”

Their path winded through the trees.  The smell of death replaced the bloody perfume sprayed about the woods. Constance shielded her nose with a hand.  d’Artagnan’s heart sunk with each footstep closer to the smell. What if they did find the two of them- he shook the thought away.  Negativity wouldn’t help them in this kind of situation.

Athos froze, and d’Artagnan ran into his back. Constance gasped and her hand covered her mouth. The Gascon peeled himself away from Athos and stared into the clearing.

Bloody bodies lay everywhere. Some were broken beyond repair, and many vacant eyes stared toward the sky.  d’Artagnan heard Athos swallow beside him as he walked into the clearing.

“Search for any survivors,” he said, though d’Artagnan heard ‘make sure Porthos and Aramis aren’t here.’ The three of them began their work right away.  d’Artagnan came across a woman with her chest split open. Her intestines snaked around her torso as juices dripped down the side of her body. Her stomach lay torn to shreds, as if the crows already picked at her. One of her green eyes dangled from the sockets; four sets of scratches dug deep into her face and most likely claws dug out the sensory organ. Her shoulder sat at a broken angle, and her throat was gashed open with what looked like teeth marks. d’Artagnan thought he’d revisit his supper as the bitter taste of acid welled up in his throat.

He moved onto the next, each one more horrid than the last.  A child, maybe eleven years old, was nearly ripped in half. An elder missed an arm, which rested in a nearby bush as if the tree grew a limb. A man’s head was completely gone, his blood mixing into the dead woman’s beside him. d’Artagnan knelt down to examine the man’s neck.  He expected hacked at flesh, but it looked clean cut like someone sliced it off with an axe.  The skin was cauterized, blistering over the red and black flesh, and the smell of burning flesh gagged d’Artagnan.  His body shuddered at the thought. Who even possessed the strength to do this to a man?  To slice through muscles and bone so cleanly took an immense amount of strength. ‘A werewolf’s strength could do it’ his mind concluded.

“They’re not here.”

d’Artagnan jumped as Athos’s voice shook him from his thoughts.  The elder sucked in a shaky breath and scented the air. d’Artagnan followed his example, hoping to find the familiar fragrance of cinnamon and at the same time not.  He mentally scolded himself for not taking in Porthos’s scent.  He shook the thought away as a misplaced fault. Besides, who in their right mind casually walked up to someone and smelled them?

“I think I may have found something.” Constance’s fingers brushed the plant in front of her. Her fingers came away with sticky blood and she brushed her thumb over it.  Athos rushed to her side and smelled the air. 

The Alpha charged forward, and Constance followed. d’Artagnan took one last look at the war zone and chased after his pack.  His hand reached out for Constance’s own, and she flinched at the touch. He looked up at her and gave it a gentle squeeze.  She stared at him, and he felt her need to be comforted wave like a flag in front of them. However, she refused to move toward him, and her reaction rang clear in his mind; they needed to find Aramis and Porthos.

When they thought they’d lost the trail and would have to scent them out, a tree or a bush carried blood on it.  The scent of strawberries hovered in the air and replaced most of the blood smell.  Athos froze in his tracks, and d’Artagnan stopped himself this time.  Voices, though soft, sounded through the trees.  Athos leapt forward and burst into the clearing.

Porthos sat in the middle of the grass.  His head bowed over a pale figure, and he cradled the body close to his chest.  Upon quick inspection, the body was female and bore no resemblance to anyone d’Artagnan met before. Constance’s words rushed back to him.  Could he have done this last night?  Fear gripped his heart as his mind assumed the worst.

Porthos growled before his head shot up toward them.

“Easy, it’s just us.” Athos strode over to him, his shoulders set and his stance tall. 

Porthos’s body released every ounce of tension and he let out a breath. “At least you lot are alright.”

“Where’s Aramis?”

As if called by a dog whistle, the musketeer emerged from the clearing with a bundle of clothing in his arms. Other than his hair more unruly than normal, the younger looked unscathed.  He smiled as he took in the sight of his pack.

“Thank God you’re all alive.”  Aramis shifted the cloth in his arms and walked to Porthos’s side.  He rested on his knees and laid the bundle in a pile.  Porthos did his best to wrap the woman up in a cloak without jostling her too much. Athos caught a better glimpse of the woman.

“Flea.”

Her eyes glanced over at him, as if he’d arrived seconds ago, and her lips turned into a half smile. They then shrunk and her body convulsed.  Porthos turned her in time for her to wretch, yellow bile spilling out of her lips. She coughed and then spat; her chest shook with a forced laugh.

“Should’ve known your pack wasn’t far behind.” Flea’s voice rasped as if she refused drinking water for years.  Her eyes closed as air forced its way out of her lungs; a wet rumble echoed in her lungs. “They’re always so loyal to you.  You don’t have to demand it.”

Porthos sucked in a breath. “You did the best you could.”

“It wasn’t enough.” She shook her head and echoed her sentence, her voice barely audible.

“You couldn’t stop him. He made his choice, as did the pack.”

“But did they really? You weren’t there, Porthos.”

“I know. I’m sorry.  I wanted to be.”

Aramis’s eyes flickered over to his Bond mate, an unreadable expression on his face. Porthos took in a breath and shifted Flea in his arms.

Flea shook her head. “Not your job. Not your pack. Remember?”

Porthos’s eyes flickered with so many emotions at once d’Artagnan’s head spun trying to catch them all.  The musketeer lowered his head down to Flea’s chest and let out a shaky breath. Aramis’s hand rubbed a circle on Porthos’s back as he whispered something into his ear.  The elder mate shook his head, and Aramis chewed at his lip.

“What happened?” Athos’s voice cut through their conversation.

Porthos’s head rose and his eyes locked with the Alpha. His voice held no tension, but it definitely demanded no argument. “She needs rest, Athos.”

“I understand that, but I need to know if the Court Pack’s actions put us in danger.”

d’Artagnan was sure if Flea wasn’t in the man’s arms, Porthos would’ve stood up and towered over Athos, growling about his insensitivity to the situation. Aramis definitely sent the man a burning glance before turning his attention back to Porthos. It seemed during the meeting, Flea passed out in Porthos’s arms.

Aramis’s hand gave Porthos’s shoulder a squeeze. “I’ll tend to her.  You take care of yourself.”

Porthos nodded and passed the woman into Aramis’s arms, whose fingers jumped to work and brushed the hair out of her face. Constance turned away from him, and d’Artagnan swallowed thickly.  Blood colored the side of Porthos’s torso and legs.  No wounds covered him, so the lad assumed it was Flea’s own blood.  Porthos took in a deep breath and hauled himself over toward the stream cutting through the woods.  Aramis sighed before unwinding the cloth around Flea’s torso, and he hissed through his teeth. The gash didn’t bleed any longer, but it still covered her side.  His nose wrinkled as he swallowed thickly. 

Aramis pulled out a wet cloth from his bag and dabbed at the wound. Flea hissed, and his hand froze.  Her eyes remained closed and she relaxed soon after, signaling him to continue his work.  The skin was enflamed, black and charred in places from some sort of burn, and huge, yellow blisters formed around the cut.

Constance covered her mouth and turned away, her head burying itself in d’Artagnan’s’ shoulder. He swallowed the quick rising bile in his throat and looked away.  Teeth gnawed at his lower lip; he had enough of gore for one day, and Constance’s green presence wasn’t helping.

“Wolfsbane,” Aramis said as he ran a hand through his hair.

d’Artagnan’s head glanced back at the scene. Athos knelt beside Aramis now, his eyes strangely tinged with sympathy.

“How deep?” The Alpha asked.

“Too deep.” Aramis’s breath came out in a shudder. “The flesh is too blistered to do any stitching, and if she’s been infected for too long-“

“She’ll live.” Porthos’s words thundered through the clearing, and Aramis jumped. “She’s strong.  If anyone can get through this, it’s Flea.”

“I’m not so sure. You heard what she said.” Aramis looked into Porthos’s eyes and immediately regretted his words. He looked away from the man, whose eyes jumped into a livid glare, and the elder musketeer growled.

“I don’t give a damn about what she said. Flea won’t give up.”

Athos looked between the two of them; his eyebrows rose with questions, and he shook his head. Aramis took in a deep breath and ran his fingers along the long gash from Flea’s hip to her breast.

“I’m going to need cold water and wine.” Aramis looked over at Porthos, who nodded his head. “I’m also going to need something I can dress over her wound, her forehead, and chest… preferably soaked with cold water.”  Porthos disappeared without a word, and Aramis glanced over at Athos.

“You sure you can save her?”

“Athos, please.”  Athos gave what he considered a smile.  He stood and walked away from the scene in front of them. Constance looked between Aramis and Athos. The former mentioned musketeer shook his head. “Make sure he doesn’t drink all the wine on the way back.”

Constance gave a nod of her head and slipped off d’Artagnan’s shoulder.  He followed her without a word, even if multiple questions rained into his mind.  The sun disappeared behind gray clouds, adding to the numbing presence of the woods.  d’Artagnan’s stomach growled, reminding him he still didn’t finish his breakfast, and he rested a hand on his stomach to attempt silencing it. Constance’s face turned to smile at d’Artagnan, though she didn’t comment on the action, and kept on Athos’s heel.  If it didn’t feel like a final request, maybe d’Artagnan’s hair would settle back onto his neck.

* * *

By the time the trio returned to the clearing, Porthos took over providing Flea with warmth while cloth rested over her brow and draped over the side of her cut body. Aramis looked over at them and nodded his head, and Athos let out a sigh.  For a moment, d’Artagnan feared they’d lost the injured woman. That is, until her glassy eyes turned to them and a smile graced her lips.

“I’m sure they brought the best.”

Porthos smiled. “Of course.”

“It’s a shame I can only enjoy its company when someone’s dying.” Flea turned her gaze back toward him, and Porthos narrowed his eyes. “Don’t give me that look. I know the blade was laced with Wolfsbane.”

“You’re going to be fine.”

She shook her head. “You’re wasting your time.”

“Flea-“

“I have nothing to return to.  My pack is gone, my mate is-“ She swallowed thickly. “This was his plan all along.”

Porthos furrowed his brow. “What?”

“He knew we wouldn’t survive the attack. He told me so.  It wasn’t a war…”

“It was a massacre.” Porthos’s lips stung with the same words he spoke to Charon.

Her eyes slipped shut. “He always wanted to leave the Court, but he didn’t know how to do it. I guess he finally found his way out.”  She shook her head and took in a breath. Porthos’s whole body stilled.

“Flea, don’t.”

She released breath, the only reminder the woman still lived, and turned her lips into a smile. “Maybe I should’ve left with you.”

Porthos pulled her close to him and buried his face into the crook of her neck.  His whispers mixed with chokes, and his shoulders trembled. Athos lowered his head and took a step back.  Constance covered her mouth with her hand and bit back a sob reaching her throat. d’Artagnan pulled her in close, and she buried herself into his shirt.  He wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on her shoulder, and his body began lightly rocking back and forth like a metronome.

As if on cue, the clouds opened up and released a steady rain. It chilled d’Artagnan’s too hot flesh and played a melancholy song in the trees.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He couldn’t imagine what would happen if Flea died on the bed nestled between them. Would Porthos become reckless and lose the self-preservation which kept him sensible all these years? Would he drown his sorrow away in a tavern before passing out in a drunken stupor? Aramis shuddered at the idea.
> 
> She had to pull through, for Porthos’s sake.
> 
>  
> 
> Or:  
> Past lives come back to haunt the pack. Some bear more demons than others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot believe I wrote this whole chapter in 24 hours. My fingers... they hurt. But once I started, I had to finish. That being said, since I did finish this chapter only yesterday, let me know if you see any mistakes.
> 
> There is a minor sexual scene, but it's played off Aramis's point of view, and his mind is anywhere but there at the moment. There's really no descriptive detail, so it shouldn't bother anyone, but I wanted to give a heads up in case it does.
> 
> I will try to get the next chapter out on Wednesday, but if I don't, I will get it up as soon as I can. Thank you for all your support thus far; I really appreciate it!
> 
> Word count: 4,153

Aramis marveled how hope burned inside his Bond mate no matter the situation.  He loved the optimism in Porthos’s encouraging words. His heart soared whenever Porthos’s bellyful laugh commanded the air around them into happiness. Every care in the world melted away when Porthos radiated the natural light inside his soul. 

Aramis couldn’t count the number of times Porthos used his talent to warm his heart.  How many hours did Porthos spend with Aramis when he trailed into the dark? If it weren’t for him, the younger musketeer would’ve been lost.

This was why he sat next to an unconscious woman. No, not just any woman; the woman who Porthos loved more than any other woman in the world.  The same woman who walked into a clearing after a full moon and achieved a pack mate’s comfort upon arrival lay unconscious in a bed before him.

The cut along her side pulsed as it tried to heal itself, and the blisters started to retreat. Aramis changed the bandages every 30 minutes, each one soaked with a special salve made of soap and sugar for extracting the poison from her body. A fever stole her breath away once and a while, but her determination to catch it rained victorious.

Aramis’s hands folded together as he rested his elbows on his knees.   His back arched as he leaned in to observe the light rise and fall of her chest.

She had to pull through.

Porthos fell asleep by Flea’s bedside. His forearms weaved together, and his head rested in the hole between his chest and forearms. The muscles in his back expanded as he took a breath and snored it out. Aramis would’ve smiled at the peaceful slumber of his Bond mate if this were any other circumstance.

Flea helped keep the light of hope ablaze in Porthos’s lonely childhood. Her quick wit and determination along with his muscles and quick reflexes kept the two alive through their short existence. Porthos had nothing but kind words to say about her, and Aramis spent many a drunken nights listening to childhood stories graced with her presence. No one knew why the two didn’t bond during those days, especially with how heavily they depended on the other.

Aramis placed his forehead against his thumbs.  His fingers wove around the rosary dangling from his neck, and he whispered a prayer in each language he knew.

He couldn’t imagine what would happen if Flea died on the bed nestled between them.  Would Porthos become reckless and lose the self-preservation which kept him sensible all these years?  Would he drown his sorrow away in a tavern before passing out in a drunken stupor? Aramis shuddered at the idea.

She had to pull through, for Porthos’s sake.

A light groan sounded from the bed, and Aramis’s head shot up.  He realized an instant too late it was too masculine to be Flea’s, and he deflated on sight. Porthos’s brown eyes met his, and Aramis shied away from his Bond mate’s gaze. He couldn’t bear to answer the hopeful glance in Porthos’s eyes. The reply remained the same every time he awoke from a deep sleep each day for a week. Aramis would shake his head, and Porthos’s hope would collapse for a moment as it did many times prior. He couldn’t stand it any longer.

Aramis stood up and smoothed out the wrinkles on his pants legs. “We should get something to eat.”

“Not hungry.”

Aramis’s eyes flashed over to Porthos, who grabbed onto Flea’s hand and massaged the back of it.  Aramis watched his finger dance around the back of her hand and narrowed his eyes.  His stomach bubbled with acid, and he hummed.

“Surely you must eat something. You’ve been by her side all day.”

“I don’t want her to be alone when she wakes.”

“If.”

The syllable hung in the air, and Aramis regretted the word the moment it left his lips. Porthos’s eyes grew cold as he glanced up at Aramis, and it cut into his heart like a knife. His whole body numbed, and his heart stopped.

“She will.  Go ahead and eat. I’m not hungry.”

“Porthos-“

“Go.”

Aramis’s body straightened. He clenched his palms together and grit his teeth. “Fine. But I’m not going to sit here and watch two people deteriorate.”  He trudged over to the door and swung it open. For a moment he paused, wondering if Porthos would call out for him.  His stomach lurched when silence surrounded him, and he slammed the door closed.

Where did this sudden flash of anger come from? He replayed the scene in his mind for clues but found his mind growing more agitated. Was it Porthos’s decline of his company or the fact someone else acquired his undivided attention? He should be comfortable with Porthos’s selflessness by now. 

Still, Porthos’s loyalty belonged to him, and Aramis knew it.  He may have known Flea longer, but he was Aramis’s Bond mate for God’s sake. Not hers. Never hers.  Aramis grit his teeth together as a warm flush crept onto his cheeks. His stomach bubbled, and his heart pounded beneath his ribcage. He took the stairs two at a time, ignoring the greetings of fellow musketeers in the Garrison.  No longer hungry, he strolled out of the garrison in hopes for a distraction.

Said distraction came in the presence of a tall, rather busty blonde woman. He brought out the ever prevalent charm gracing his personality and gave everything he had during the conversation. Her eyes lit up with his compliments, and her face flushed with warm blood. Aramis’s body tingled with a familiar numb sensation as his blood traveled south, and within a moment’s notice, he cradled the woman close to his chest, kissing her.

Within no time, they were up in her room. Aramis’s fingers played with the corset strings, releasing her from the cloth prison. She did the same to his breeches, and soon they tangled together in a mess of hot bodies and askew bed sheets. Aramis’s heart pounded in his chest as he took in the sight of the woman below him. Her breasts perked from both the cold and arousal, and Aramis cradled them within his fingers. He brought his nose down to her neck, taking in a deep breath.

The pheromones in a woman’s scent always calmed his nerves and spun the musketeer into a natural high.   He declared his actions in the name of love, since he never abused any women in his company, and they always accepted him with open arms, but he knew the real reason behind it, and the ugly truth burned in the pit of his stomach.

Love came in many varying forms and degrees, Aramis concluded through the years. It grew in the womb of a mother and traveled into the being of her newly born child. It kept siblings fighting yet loyal to each other when the situation called upon them. It held the musketeers together in a brotherly bond many failed to dampen.  It resided between two soulmates whose paths interlocked the moment they took in the sight of one another.

Aramis remembered the way Porthos looked at him when they realized they Bonded.  His brown eyes, full of life and prosperity, brought Aramis back into the present more than once. The man singlehandedly rescued him from Savoy and nursed him back to health.  If not for Porthos’s hope and undying optimism, Aramis would’ve been lost to the world.

Porthos set the same hope upon Flea now.  Aramis’s blood chilled in his body as the idea set in his mind.  How could Porthos give her the same devotion he laid upon Aramis those five years ago?  They were Bonded together, not the two childhood friends that graced his bedroom.  The venomous idea coiled in his stomach like a viper ready to strike. Aramis grit his teeth together and froze. The world collapsed around him as his deductive skills brought the answer to his mind.

He was jealous of Flea. He hated the times Porthos spoke about her in his company. He ignored the way Porthos’s fingers trailed on the woman’s body.  Porthos paid the same attention to Flea he did Aramis, and it didn’t sit right with him.  It never did; he failed to realize it earlier.

And now with Flea’s Bond mate gone, Porthos would stay by her side and offer his comfort.  Aramis grimaced; Flea may not do it on purpose, but Porthos would retract from Aramis’s presence if it meant saving an old friend. His heart ached along with the dull pull of Porthos’s soul mixed with his. It already began.

The woman beneath him, who he discovered bore the name of Catherine, shifted under his body.  Her voice came out like silk and sent shivers down his spine.

“Is something wrong, love?” She reached up and stroked his cheeks with ginger fingers.  He looked into her blown pupils engulfing once green irises and shook his head.

“No.” His voice did not betray him this time, and he smiled. “I wanted to hear your consent for myself, one last time.”

Catherine giggled and purred in his ear, “I’m all yours.”

That was what Aramis needed to bury into her. It didn’t matter if he heard not her voice but a deeper one.  He longed to hear those exact words in their husky, deep tone for so long but denied himself the pleasure. Rejection kept his emotions at bay and his body pure of the one he longed for.

The woman let out a groan of pleasure as Aramis entered inside her, numb to his own actions. His body moved on its own as his mind did its best to work through the dilemma in front of him.

Porthos loved Flea; he only saw Aramis as a Bond mate. Nothing would ever happen between the two of them, no matter how much Aramis wished to deny it. Their Bond preformed enough to keep Aramis’s heart happy: a touch here, a cuddle there. Meaningless platonic displays of affection the lot of it.

Catherine’s gasps of pleasure brought him back to the present. He cursed himself for allowing dishonor to fall upon the sacred action he performed. Here lay the woman he seduced into bed, and she remained hidden from his thoughts. She released her climax, and Aramis slowed inside of her.  Her breaths were soft, and a dazed look covered her face.  Aramis cupped her cheeks and pulled out.

“You alright?” he asked.

“Better than alright.” She leaned up and kissed his lips.  Aramis shifted her until she lay on his chest with her head against his heart. He stroked a hand through her hair while she attempted to catch her breath. This was always his favorite part: the after sex cuddles his nerves desperately needed.  “Don’t you need to-“

“No.” He shook his head and placed a kiss to her head. “I’m sorry to disappoint.”

“Something troubling you?” Catherine glanced back at him and furrowed her brows. Aramis opened his mouth to lie, but he closed it again. Her head rested back on his chest and, she took in a deep breath. “I could tell something was off. You don’t need to tell me if you don’t want to.”

Well, if Aramis didn’t feel guilty already, that definitely would’ve done it.

“I’m sorry.  It’s a personal issue.”

“Another woman?”

“Something like that.”

Catherine hummed. “Established?”

“It’s complicated.”

“You mean you haven’t asked her yet?”

Aramis chuckled. “How perceptive of you.”

“Well, if she’s anything like you, she deserves every moment of your love.” Catherine sat up to look Aramis in the eye and smiled. “The worst she can say is no. And she’d be a fool to. You’re a wonderful man.”

Aramis’s cheeks tinged; if only Catherine knew what she spoke of. Nevertheless, he kissed her on the forehead and purred a ‘thank you’ in her hair. For a while, he lay on the bed with nothing but his thoughts to break the silence. Catherine fell asleep against his chest, and as much as it pained him to leave a sleeping woman, he couldn’t bare another moment in her presence. His skin felt dirty and his nerves crawled throughout his body.

After placing another chaste kiss to her forehead, he dressed himself and placed his hat on his head. The musketeer offered one look back before setting off into the streets of Paris. People bustled about, but Aramis still believed he remained utterly alone. His bond with Porthos wavered the moment he stormed out the door.  He wished to reach out for Porthos’s presence, but he knew Porthos would choose Flee over him.

In the end, he’d always choose Flea.

A flash of curly brown hair forced Aramis’s head upright. He took in a sharp breath and paled. His muscles tightened, and he choked on the air. The familiar scent of blueberries mixed with Easter lilies caught his nose, and he backed up into the wall. Brown eyes flashed around as they threatened to go gold with the sudden spike of adrenaline.

The crowd divided, and Aramis locked onto familiar crystal blue eyes. The man placed a finger to his lips and smiled as he disappeared through the street.  Aramis’s body moved on its own as he pushed past people, muttering a quick apology to those he bumped too heavily into. He stood in the same spot he saw the man and spun about, trying to catch his scent.

“Aramis.”

The musketeer turned in time to meet striking blue eyes inches from his own.  Aramis’s heart sprung into his throat as the ghost before him grinned like a Cheshire cat.  The name caught in his throat; his breath lay trapped behind his beating heart.

“Marsac.”

* * *

Porthos clutched Flea’s hand in his own and held it to his lips.  He planted a chaste kiss before whispering words she couldn’t hear and sighed. The middle musketeer failed with words; he enjoyed action far more.  Actions spoke louder than words after all. They convinced people love existed and showed inner emotions when words lied.

The musketeer set her hand on the bed and turned to rest his back against the mattress.  His stomach did indeed growl, but he dare not leave her.  Charon’s death would extinguish any hope for her to find comfort ever again, since they were Soul bonded.  She would always bear the empty pit in the bottom of her heart until death brought them together again. Porthos sighed; he couldn’t help her like he did Aramis, and it destroyed him.  Friendship kept him alive throughout his life, and those who befriended him meant more than his own life.

The hardest decision he ever made remained the day he left his old pack. His loyalty claimed his personality to a fault, and the whole Court looked to him for protection.  However, they expected a type of leadership he couldn’t give. From the day he arrived in the Court’s world, the people around him expected the boy to become the next Alpha.

Not many purebreds lived in the Court; most Alphas came from well off families. With his father’s lineage in question, many challenged the claim to his pure blood.  However, the first time they heard him roar, the rumors and taunts came to a halt. Porthos became destined to be the next Alpha, which brought out a rivalry in one of his childhood friends.

Anger from a friend always set ill in Porthos’s stomach, especially if he couldn’t fix it. Charon, another rare purebred who lived in the court his whole life, befriended Porthos before the rumors came to a truth. After that day, Charon challenged Porthos to many duels, all of which he lost, and their friendship teetered on a thin line. If not for Flea, Porthos decided Charon would’ve deserted him altogether. He couldn’t stand the idea of driving away someone who helped keep his sanity.

On Porthos’s birthday, Charon challenged the man to one last duel. Porthos bet his Alpha status as per usual, and Charon jumped at the chance. The predestined Alpha planned on losing the match and making it look like he gave it his all. After a surprise punch to the gut, Porthos missed his chance to dodge Charon’s claws.  His nails ran deep over Porthos’s left eye and blinded it.  As Porthos tried to blink the tears out of his eyes, Charon pinned him and held his claws against Porthos’s throat. If Flea’s didn’t intervene, he assumed his friend would’ve killed him then and there.

Charon helped Porthos up with the promise of denouncing Porthos’s status as Alpha. He agreed, though not many members of the Court Pack accepted his defeat. They still claimed Porthos the next Alpha, and it angered Charon to no end.  He believed Porthos would challenge him to another duel, and each time Porthos tried to speak to him, Charon would end up chasing the man away.  In the end, Porthos left the Court in search for a new home.  Of course, his wolf blood could heal any injury throughout his body, but the scar Charon left ran deeper than any wound.

Losing his only family bore the worst feeling in the world. That is, until he’d seen Aramis’s face when he left the room moments ago.  The man looked at him with the same disgust Charon wore back in the day, and it ate away at Porthos’s heart. Of course, the two endured their fair share of screaming matches and meaningless fights before, but the emotion hidden beneath Aramis’s eyes shook Porthos to his core: desolation.

Porthos thought he’d chased the look away when Savoy wreaked havoc on Aramis’s mind. What could’ve triggered the response? Porthos cursed whatever planted the assumption into his Bond mate’s mind.

The door creaked open, and Porthos’s heart leapt into his throat. It settled when Athos entered the room, and Porthos’s chest cleared his emotion.

Athos took one look at Flea and huffed through his nose. “Nothing has changed?”

“No.”

Athos came to sit beside the larger man and folded his legs like a pretzel.  The silence surrounding them fed Porthos’s thoughts, and he pressed his lips together.

Athos stole one glance at Porthos before speaking. “Have you been here all this time?”

“I’ve never left her side.”

“There’s no guarantee she’ll stay.”

“I can hope.  It’s all I got left.”  Athos cast another glance at Porthos and raised an eyebrow.  Porthos chuckled. “Well, besides you lot of course.”

“Glad to know we’re the second choice.”

Porthos playfully punched Athos in the shoulder, and Athos curled the ends of his lips.

“Could you two keep it down? I’m trying to sleep.”

Porthos’s heart stopped as green eyes stared at him. His face lit up, and he grabbed her hand to press it to his lips for another chaste kiss. She smiled and blinked her eyes slowly.

“I knew you’d pull through.”

“How could I not when you take such care of me.”

Porthos’s heart succumbed to modesty. Had it not been for Aramis, Flea would be buried somewhere within the woods. He cursed the way he sent the younger musketeer away and glanced back at Flea.  Her lips curved down as she took in his expression.

“Something troubling you?”

Porthos shook his head. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Flea,” Athos took in a breath and paused for a moment, “what happened last night?”

Flea’s head turned to stare up at the ceiling. She inhaled and exhaled; her lips tried to catch up with her mind.  After a moment’s pause, she told her story:

“The night before the full moon, Charon plotted to attack the rogue pack. I tried to knock some sense into him, since many of our own were bitten wolfs and would have problems shifting with a strange pack in the woods. He assured me everything would be alright and to trust him.

“Still, it did not sit well with me. I talked to other members of the pack; some agreed with me while others devoted blind loyalty to their Alpha.  I remembered what Porthos said, how this pack could be dangerous, and I felt overwhelming dread in my stomach.

“The night of the full moon, Charon corralled our pack into a meeting. He told them how he planned on attacking the rogue pack when our wolves were at their strongest, and this erupted into an argument among the members.  I tried to calm them, but they wouldn’t listen.  Charon gave a growl of submission, and the whole pack silenced. They took in his words like a babe sucked milk from their mother’s breast and followed him into the woods.

“I could only watch as Charon met the other pack.  He asked to speak to their Alpha but was surprised not to find one or two but five Alphas.  It was the moment I knew we were in over our heads. Charon ordered them to leave the woods, but they would not have it. He lunged forward, and our packs began to war.

“I remember blood around me. My pack, people I grew up beside and raised, were dying, and despite how much I fought, I couldn’t stop it. I remember them pinning Charon to the ground, and this woman brought a strange, thick blade up to his throat. I blinked my eyes, and that quickly, she severed his head. I’ll never forget the sizzling sound of it burning the flesh or the glow around the blade as it cut through muscle and bones. I don’t even think it had time to bleed before the blade cauterized the wound.

“This sharp pain hit my heart.  I couldn’t breathe; I couldn’t think.  My knees buckled from underneath me, and the world dizzied.  I couldn’t stand, and she came toward me with that accursed blade. My eyes didn’t leave Charon’s body.  I couldn’t believe it; my mate was… gone.”

Her breath hitched in her throat as tears stung her eyes. Porthos reached over and brushed them out of her eyes.  Her lips stumbled to find the next words.

“I thought I was done for.  She raised the blade to strike, and I closed my eyes. I heard this growl and a cry of pain.  The blade cut into my side and burned my flesh.  When I opened my eyes, the woman lay on the ground clutching her arm.  A black wolf stared at me; I’d never seen him in my life.  All I know is he saved me.  And before I could say anything, he vanished. I scrambled back into the bushes and watched the battle rage on. It must’ve lasted seconds after I escaped.  I wanted to reach out and hope someone in my pack was alive, but… no one moved. No one breathed. They were all dead. I’m the last…”

Porthos squeezed her hand and brought his lips together in a straight line. “You did the best you could, Flea.”

“But it wasn’t enough.”

Athos furrowed his brow as he digested Flea’s story.  His eyes scanned over the floor as bitter memories passed through his mind.

“Flea, this woman. What did she look like?”

Flea furrowed her brows and chewed at her lip.  “It was too dark to tell, even with the moonlight. But I remember these green eyes staring right into my soul.”

The color drained from Athos’s face. Porthos turned his head and gave Athos a squeeze on the shoulder, asking the elder musketeer if he was alright. Athos shook his head and willed the woman’s appearance away from his mind.  The night air told him the truth; he did smell her outside of his house.

“Flea, you came across the werewolf hunter… Milady.”

Both Porthos and Flea’s attention rested upon him now. Porthos swallowed whatever caught in his throat as Flea spoke. “You’ve met her before?”

Athos nodded his head. “She killed my brother.”

Porthos sucked in a breath; Athos explained his brother’s death during one of those wine filled nights. He couldn’t bring himself to grieve with the man, but he definitely knew what it was like to lose the only family you had.

“I’m sorry,” Flea said as soft as a kitten’s purr. She closed her eyes and took in a breath.  Porthos lurched forward to make sure she still took in air and relaxed when her chest rose and fell once again.

“She’s back.” Athos’s words slurred together. His body trembled, and he thanked his lucky stars he already sat on the ground. “After all these years, she’s finally come to kill me.”

Porthos narrowed his eyes. “Not while I’m around.”

Athos huffed at that. “I should’ve known the day d’Artagnan brought the news she wouldn’t disappear easily.”

Porthos pieced together the hidden story in his words. “This is the same woman d’Artagnan ran into?”

“Yes.” Athos paused. “I fear we’re all in grave danger.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> d’Artagnan placed a hand on Constance’s shoulder and stood to her right. Milady hummed and pulled the edges of her lips into a smirk. 
> 
> “Out of my house.” Constance enunciated each word and gritted her teeth. “Now.”
> 
> “But I didn’t deliver my gift yet.” Milady drew a pistol from her side and fired. d’Artagnan’s hand jumped for his pistol, and the world came to a halt. 
> 
>  
> 
> Or:  
> An encounter with Milady goes sour. Athos and Porthos try to find Aramis before it's too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it appears my update schedule (for now) will only be on Sundays. I'm not satisfied with my works on a Wednesday, especially with so little time to work on it now. You all deserve my best, even if it means waiting a little while.
> 
> That being said, this chapter will end in a cliff hanger. If you don't like them, you might want to wait for the follow-up chapter next week.
> 
> There's a rather nasty description of a bullet wound in this chapter, so if that makes you squeamish, read with caution.
> 
> Word count: 4,866

Constance stared out the window as she stirred her tea. The sun attempted to warm her numb skin.  Her mind bounced from subject to subject but always came back to the same question: where did she belong in Athos’s pack? Athos was the Alpha, Porthos’s purebred blood made him a powerful machine, and Aramis’s medical knowledge and speed proved useful in and out of his wolf form.  While d’Artagnan’s fresh blood hindered his strength, he learned on his feet and would soon become an important part of the pack.

Constance couldn’t shift when needed; she was only a pity case. Sure, they enjoyed her company, and she loved them like brothers, but what could they gain from bringing her in?

She couldn’t keep her promise to keep d’Artagnan safe, that’s for sure.  Yes, he came back later that morning, but what if he murdered those wolves in the woods? Would he forgive himself? Would _she_ forgive _herself_? She shook the thought away and huffed through her nose. Better to remain ignorant than search for the truth.

She paused as her husband strode into the kitchen, and a smile graced her lips.  He pecked her on the lips and folded some fabrics abandoned on the table.

“I’m going out to the market.” His eyes flashed up to her.  In her days of innocence, she would’ve seen it as a gaze of love. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

“Of course.” She wrapped her arms around his neck to hug him, and he circled his around her waist. “I’ll be here, as always.”

He whispered into her ear, and her knees quivered.  He smiled, enjoying her automatic reaction, and gave her a kiss on the neck. After a quick tight squeeze, he released her and hustled out of the house.

“That was rather interesting to watch.”

Constance grimaced. “Hush, d’Artagnan.”

The lad smiled and meandered into the kitchen. His grin faltered when her scornful gaze met his eyes.

“You looked like someone broke your favorite teacup.” Constance set her jaw and played with the dish towel in her hands.  d’Artagnan’s entire smile disappeared, and he shifted his weight onto his left leg. “I’m sorry.”

“For what? It’s the truth.” Constance huffed and collapsed into a chair. Her hands engulfed her face as she cradled her cheeks.  d’Artagnan walked over and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Constance stiffened. “Don’t pity me.”

“I’m not.”

“Please. I can feel you through our Bond, remember?”

d’Artagnan looked up at the ceiling and shook his head.  He failed at containing the breathy laugh in his chest. “I’m trying to help.”

“I don’t need your help!” She jumped up, her eyes ablaze. “I know I’m some helpless woman in this Godforsaken pack who can’t shift or lead or fight or… any of that. But I’m not helpless.  I’m not.”

d’Artagnan’s hand hovered in the air where her shoulder once resided.  He lowered his hand and pursed his lips. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to anger you.”

Constance chewed at her bottom lip. Tears welled in her eyes, and she tried to produce words her mind didn’t have. d’Artagnan began to back away, and she sucked in a breath. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

The tears spilled over her cheeks and she raced toward him.  Her arms flung around his neck, and she buried her face into his collarbone. Her shoulders heaved with soft sobs.  d’Artagnan’s arm muscles connected with his mind, and he wrapped them around her. The Gascon rested his chin on her head and rubbed circles in the small of her back.

Constance sucked in the scent lingering from d’Artagnan’s neck. She tried many times to receive the same natural high from her husband, and once upon a time, she would’ve believed it sent her mind reeling.  d’Artagnan’s fragrance of pine needles and firewood calmed her nerves and lightened her heart. She believed it a side effect from their bond but only fooled herself into doing so. An invisible force pulled her toward him the first day he arrived in Paris. His sent encased her mind and dulled her senses. If love at first sight did exist…

No, she loved her husband with all her heart. Sure, he was rough around the edges; every man had their demons. Some of his decisions she didn’t agree with, but she couldn’t blame the man. If a woman gallivanted into her home and tried to take d’Artagnan away, she knew she’d become bitter.

But why should she? d’Artagnan did not owe her loyalty. He was a free man, fit to do as he pleased. A Soul bond defined who completed the holes in their souls not who they would love.

“Constance,” he said in a smooth whisper, “I know you’re not helpless. Anyone who makes you feel as such isn’t worth your time.”

“I don’t know what to do, d’Artagnan.” She breathed into his neck. “I love my husband, I do, but I can’t stay trapped here.” d’Artagnan brought a hand to her hair and stroked it.  “I want to be more useful to the pack. I want to fight and protect you lot, and I can’t do that here, but I can’t leave him. I feel like no matter what I do, I’ll just end up alone.”

d’Artagnan gently rocked her back and forth. “But you’re not alone, Constance. Whatever you decide, I’ll support you.” He planted a kiss to the top of her hair. “You’ll never be alone.”

At that, Constance’s body relaxed. Her tears stopped flowing, and she smiled. “Thank you.”

“Well, aren’t you two cute?”

d’Artagnan and Constance’s heads shot up.  A quick inhale through his nose and d’Artagnan cursed his blindness to his surroundings. Milady strolled into the house like she owned it, a devilish smile on her face. Constance spun around to stand between d’Artagnan; a growl ripped through her throat.

“Leave at once.”

“Well, how rude.  I came to see how d’Artagnan faired after the fight, and this is how you treat me.”

d’Artagnan’s body stiffened.  Constance pressed into him, her body on high alert.

“What fight?” d’Artagnan asked and looked down at Milady’s arm, which rested in a sling.  Her eyes flashed as she glared at them.

“Oh, that’s right. You wouldn’t remember a thing.”  Milady took a step closer, and another growl snuck out of Constance. “You should keep a better eye on your pet.”

d’Artagnan placed a hand on Constance’s shoulder and stood to her right. Milady hummed and pulled the edges of her lips into a smirk.

“Out of my house.” Constance enunciated each word and gritted her teeth. “Now.”

“But I didn’t deliver my gift yet.” Milady drew a pistol from her side and fired. d’Artagnan’s hand jumped for his pistol, and the world came to a halt.  Hands gripped his shoulders, pain shot through his left arm, and he heard Constance gasp. His back hit the floor as Constance fell on him. He snapped his eyes open and stared at the ceiling. Constance’s head rested in the hole between his shoulder and neck, and his heart rate spiked.

“Aww, I missed.” Milady’s voice cut through the air.  Her casual voice sent chills throughout d’Artagnan’s body. “I knew I should’ve brought more than one bullet.  Tell Athos I send my love.”

d’Artagnan whispered Constance’s name as cradled her in his arms. Her face blanched, and she cast a weary smile. d’Artagnan’s head whipped over toward the door, but Milady disappeared.  He shifted Constance’s weight in his arms but froze as she hissed in pain.

“Let me see,” he said and pushed Constance into a sitting position. He tugged at the dress’s neckline and noticed the wound on the top of her left shoulder blade. The skin around it bubbled and splotched red. He sucked in a breath as the rash crept over her skin.  Veins popped like someone drew them on with blue ink.  The bullet lay out of reach, and d’Artagnan dare not dig it out himself.

Constance could smell the fear oozing from his body. She rolled her shoulder, testing the wound, and groaned. Judging by the heat rising through her body, the bullet was poisonous. “We need to get Aramis. I’m not sure if the bullet was laced with Wolfsbane or-“ Her voice caught in her throat. “silver.”

“You’re not going anywhere.”

“d’Artagnan-“

“No!” He pulled her closer to his body. “The poison will spread quicker if you increase your heart rate.”

“The sooner we find him _together_ , the better.”

d’Artagnan looked into Constance’s eyes, which were already glazing over. He scooped her up in his arms and made his way out the door.

* * *

Porthos stared out the window, his fingers intertwined and pressed against his lips.  His elbows rested upon his kneecaps, one leg jackhammered up and down, and Flea felt a headache coming on watching him.  She wished to state the obvious question, but she knew Porthos would deny it.  Even if they weren’t Bonded, Flea knew well enough by now when his nerves played at his movements.

After watching for a minute, she growled and turned her head away. “Would you stop? You’re giving me a headache.”  Flea heard his foot still and turned back to face him.  He opened his mouth to apologize, but she cut him off. “Don’t you dare. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

Porthos’s jaw snapped shut but opened soon after. “Something doesn’t feel right.”

“Obviously with the way you snapped at Aramis.”

“I didn’t-“ He narrowed his eyes. “You were asleep. How did you hear that?”

“Porthos, please.” She rolled her eyes.  He pressed his lips together and studied her for a moment.  She continued, “You haven’t been right since he left the room.”

His eyes examined the grain patterns in the floor as Flea sat up in her bed. The muscles in her side pulled, but she ignored the hiss rising into her throat. Porthos sat an arm length away, and she reached out to pat a hand on his shoulder. Her fingertips rose as his muscles tightened, and she pulled at the corner of her lips.

“You reek of anxiety. How could I _not_ notice?”

He let out a long sigh through his nose. “I think the Soul bond between Aramis and me is breaking.”

“Nonsense.” She half laughed. “It’s impossible to sever a Bond. You know that.”

“But I can’t… feel him.”

“It’s possible he’s blocking the link, or the wolf may be doing it for him.”

“Is it even possible?”

“Of course. It’s not hard to do if you think about it.” She muttered under her breath. “I can’t tell you how many times I did it with Charon.”

“Flea…“ His low voice vibrated in her chest.

She inhaled through her nose and released it from her mouth. “Obviously he feels distressed in your presence right now.”

Porthos’s blood boiled in his body and then chilled. Why in the world would Aramis run from him? He replayed the scenario of his mate leaving the room in his mind. Aramis did appear tense when he left, but Porthos thought it more of jealousy than anything-

Porthos’s eyes widened and he took in a breath.  Flea smirked. “Did it click?”

“I never thought-“

“You never thought indeed. Not when you were a child; not now.”

Porthos narrowed his eyes but kept the playful smirk on his face.  Voices downstairs caught his ears and stilled a witty response. His heart jumped at the thought of Aramis returning. The man had so much to say to his Bond mate at the moment he didn’t know where to begin. “We have company.”

“Well, it would be rude if you didn’t greet them.” Flea shrugged and lay back down. “I could use some rest.”

He looked to her and planted a chaste kiss on her forehead. “I’ll only be a minute.”

“Take as much time as you need,” she said with a smile and let her eyes close.

* * *

Athos nursed a glass of wine as he sat at their normal table. His eyes stared up at the clouds, admiring the way they shifted so carefree in the breeze. He wished he could relax as they did and allow life to take it where it wanted him. Instead, he lived on constant alert and self-formed habits.  While it made him a great leader, tactician, and Alpha, it inhibited his ability to enjoy life.

“Athos!”

The Alpha turned his head and saw d’Artagnan enter the garrison with Constance nestled in his arms. Her head lay against his neck, buried from his view. Athos’s hair bristled as he bolted to the entryway, his boots scraping along the dirt.

“What happened?”

“She was shot. I think she said it was either silver or forged in Wolfsbane.”

Athos cursed under his breath. He attempted to take Constance from d’Artagnan’s arms, but the lad growled. Athos narrowed his eyes but didn’t question the movement.  

“Why didn’t you leave her rest and come get us? It would’ve been quicker.”

“Oh yes, and leave her for Milady to pick off while she’s alone and injured. Brilliant idea.”

Athos froze.  d’Artagnan studied the man and shifted Constance’s weight in his arms, which earned a light moan from Constance.

“What happened?” Porthos’s voice thundered through the clearing.

“She was shot,” Athos said and turned his head to d’Artagnan. “Is the bullet still in there?”

“Yes.” Athos let out a groan. d’Artagnan grimaced. “Honestly, I don’t know what to do.  I’m not a Werewolf medic.”

Porthos assisted Athos in leading d’Artagnan upstairs, and they lay Constance face down on the bed. She gave a low grunt of disapproval but didn’t stir from her slumber. d’Artagnan slid into a chair and moaned. His stomach twisted in knots, and he knew if he looked at Constance’s sleeping form, he would’ve broken down.

Athos grabbed a small blade from the drawer and hoped Constance would forgive him. He cut away at the cloth covering the bullet wound, leaving her whole shoulder blade exposed. Athos winced as he stared at the hole.

“Definitely silver. Put a hand on her back to keep her still,” Athos said, turning his attention to Porthos. The man nodded and placed a hand at the base of her neckline. “d’Artagnan, I need two bowls of water and clean cloth.” The lad nodded his head and scurried off to fetch the materials.

Porthos looked anywhere but Constance’s back, now decorated in blisters and blue lines.  “Can you take it out?”

Athos’s face caught in his memory. Porthos watched Athos’s eyes glass over as pupils dilated, and he placed his free hand on Athos’s shoulder. The man jumped at the touch but didn’t shy away from it. Porthos rubbed his fingers in a comforting manner. After a moment lost in memory, Athos turned back to face him.

“If I don’t, she’s going to die. It’s not like Aramis is here to help.”

Porthos looked away from the Alpha. Athos raised an eyebrow but knew interrogating the man would do more harm than good. d’Artagnan arrived with the requested materials and set them on the bedside table.  He took one look at Constance and pursed his lips.

“d’Artagnan, I need you to let me know if I hurt her.”

“She’s already in pain.” He smothered himself in the same chair as before and squeezed his eyes shut. “Don’t worry about hurting her and get it out.”

Athos turned back to Constance. His fingers paused over the entry wound, and his teeth gnawed at his lip. His voice came out as a whisper. “But what if I can’t?”

Porthos squeezed the hand on Athos’s shoulder. “Would you rather I do it?”  Athos shook his head.  His hand quivered as he hovered it over the bullet hole, which turned black and began to form pus.  His fingers slipped inside the hole, earning a pained gasp from both d’Artagnan and Constance, and he hesitated.

“Well don’t sit there with your finger inside it!” d’Artagnan tried to catch his breath.

The tip of his finger met the warm metal in Constance’s shoulder, and he curled his fingertip around the ball.  With a quick flick of his finger, it pulled up.  Another shot the ball out of Constance’s skin and pattering onto the floor. Athos exhaled and his shoulders slumped. Porthos sent him a reassuring smile while d’Artagnan picked up the little instrument of torture on the floor.

“Does Aramis still have the salve mixed up for Flea?” Athos asked.

Porthos nodded and ran up to Flea’s room. He snuck in and took the paste without waking her, and handed it to Athos. The Alpha rubbed the paste on Constance’s skin and watched relief wash over her face.  He did the best he could to dress the wound without jostling her too much.

“She’ll be better soon, yeah?” Porthos shifted his weight.

“I’d rather a second opinion from Aramis.”

“Well then, we better be off to find him.” Porthos’s strode away until he noticed Athos didn’t move. “Athos?”

The man still stared at Constance’s back, his expression unreadable. Porthos took a step toward him, which jerked the elder musketeer’s head upright.

“Yes.” He glanced from the corner of his eye toward d’Artagnan. “You’ll watch over her?”

“Of course.”

He nodded his head and followed Porthos out the door. The two marched in step as they exited the garrison.  While Aramis’s scent dusted the air, Athos knew if Porthos didn’t have the man’s scent memorized by now, they would’ve lost it on more than one occasion. Athos sighed; thank god Aramis wasn’t an Alpha and able to mask his scent.

The trail led them into the busy streets of the market, and Porthos stopped. No matter how hard he breathed in, he couldn’t pick up any spices or other scents from Aramis. He swore under his breath and backed up, hoping to find another clue.

“Now what?” Porthos rubbed his forehead as a headache began to set in.

“I’m not sure.”

Porthos growled. “When I get my hands on him…”

Athos raised an eyebrow as he awaited Porthos to continue. “Something troubling you two?”

“Nothing we can’t work out.”

“So that’s why he gallivanted off to the streets without telling you.”

Porthos’s cold glare didn’t unnerve Athos one bit. “If we can’t find Aramis in time-“

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence. We’ll find him.”

A quiet voice piped up through the bustle of the crowd. “Excuse me?”

The two of them turned to notice a rather well dressed girl with blonde hair approach them.  The woman’s voice strengthened the longer she spoke. “I heard you’re looking for Monsieur Aramis?”

“You’ve seen him?” Athos questioned. Judging from the snuff from Porthos, it was a stupid question.

She nodded. “I wasn’t with him when he left my house, but I did see him from my window. He met a man in the streets over at the north end of the market.  They argued a bit before getting into a fight.” Porthos’s hair raised on the back of his neck.  Athos glanced over at him while the girl continued her story. “Aramis took a sword hilt to the head, and the man carried him out of the market.”

Athos asked, “Which way did they go?”

“Over toward the north woods,” She pointed in the direction, but Porthos bolted away long before she moved. Athos thanked the woman before chasing after Porthos. 

“Porthos-“

“If he’s hurt, I swear I’ll-“

“You’ll what?” He stopped in front of Porthos.

“Athos, get out of the way.”

“We need a plan. This could be an ambush.” Porthos took a step forward, but Athos placed a hand on his shoulder. “Calm down.”

“I can’t! It’s my fault he was out here in the first place.” The anger subsided in his voice a bit.

“And charging in is the best plan to bring him home. I’m sure he’ll appreciate having you injured or worse on his conscience.”

Porthos sighed, exasperation evident in his voice. “Athos, we’re two purebred wolves. Between your Alpha status and my strength, we should be able to bring down whoever took Aramis.”

Athos let his hand slip off Porthos’s shoulder and leaned in closer. “We go in silent.  It won’t do him any good if we charge in fangs glistening. No fighting if we can prevent it.” Porthos opened his mouth to argue. “No. We grab Aramis and we get out of there. Understand?”

* * *

 

Ugh, what a headache.

Aramis blinked his eyes open and stared up at the sunset colored sky. He sat up, his head pounding in rhythm of his heart, and looked around. How did he end up in the woods? The smell of wolves hung in the air. He didn’t recognize any of the scents, and his heart rate picked up.

Bushes rustled beside him. The hair on the back of his neck rose as a growl formed in his throat. He reached down for his sword, but his hand grabbed only air. His head glanced down to see his blue sash tied around his waist and nothing else.

Silver colored fur thrust upon him. He fell onto his back; the wolf pressed its paws into his shoulders. Aramis let out a snarl and fought with his instincts to shift.  He almost gave in to the wolf until a tongue licked his face. Aramis snapped his mouth closed and tossed his head to the side. The wolf released him and backed up to a sitting position in the grass.

_It’s been a while, Aramis._

Aramis narrowed his eyes and stared into the wolf’s eyes. Fur pale as the moonlight retreated back onto skin as it shifted back into a man with wavy hair and a somber expression. Aramis struggled to his feet despite his rising headache.

“I thought I’d seen the last of you five years ago,” Aramis said. His eyes narrowed as he flashed extended fangs.

“Now, now.” The man held out a hand. “Hear me out, Aramis.”

“I heard you fine in the market.”

“Aramis-“

“You left me for dead!”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you like that.”

“You bit me and ran off.  I had no idea where you disappeared to yet alone what you did to me.”

“You can’t tell me-“

“How could you leave me alone, Marsac?  How could you abandon _us_? We were your brothers. Didn’t we mean anything to you?”

“Enough!” Marsac clenched his fists.  A strange fear bubbled in Aramis’s chest.  He backed up and his eyes widened. Marsac’s face softened and he sauntered forward, careful not to startle Aramis further, and squeezed the musketeer’s shoulder.  “I realized my mistake too late. By the time I came back with my pack, you were already in his.” His lips curled up into a snarl.  “ _You_ deserted _me_ , Aramis.  Not the other way around.”

Aramis brushed Marsac’s hand away, his heart still pounding in his chest.  Marsac took another step closer and brushed a lock of wavy hair from Aramis’s face. Aramis growled and shrank back from his touch. “You stay away from me.”

“That’s no way to treat your Alpha.”

“You’re not my Alpha.” Aramis narrowed his eyes. “I don’t care if you turned me or not.”

Marsac circled him. His eyes wandered up and down Aramis’s body like a prize dog on display. Aramis kept his breathing even and clenched his fists.  He knew Marsac could overpower him without breaking a sweat.  Marsac returned to stare at his face and hummed.

“Look how strong you’ve become.” He smiled and revealed yellowed fangs. Aramis kept his jaw locked as his skin tingled.  The strange scent filled the area as several wolves trotted into the clearing. Some wolves bared their teeth while others watched their Alpha with curiosity. Marsac stepped back and Aramis’s body relaxed a bit.

After scanning the clearing, Aramis’s eyes locked onto his sword tucked away on the other side of the bushes, but he knew he’d never reach it in time. And even if he did shift to defend himself, Marsac’s pack outnumbered him.  He scolded himself for going off on his own and took a step backward.  If he shifted with a good reason to stay in control, he could outrun them and return to the safety of Paris.  The question was: how long could he control his wolf, especially with how high his adrenaline spiked?

Marsac’s eyes flashed gold as Aramis took another step back.  He bared fangs and growled. “Stay.”

Aramis praised God it wasn’t a voice of submission and darted through the brush.  He could hear the snarls and barks behind him as Marsac ordered a chase.  Instincts inside him screamed for him to shift; he outran both Athos and Porthos with four paws.  Aramis gave into the tough choice and began stripping his clothing off the best he could while running.  His body twisted about until he raced on all fours, his sleek brown fur bouncing around with each step.  He leapt over logs and branches; his paws skimmed the ground.  His heart pounded in his chest as he navigated through the woods. The sour smell of Paris filled his nostrils. He quickened his pace and let his lips pull back in concentration.

A large wolf hit him hard on his left. Teeth sunk into his neck and ripped flesh. Aramis barked and snapped his head up.  His paw met the other wolves leg and claws left deep gouges in its shoulder. It yelped and Aramis leapt on his feet.  As he lunged forward, teeth wrapped around his tail and yanked him backward. Aramis lost his footing and tumbled once again. Another set of teeth were around his neck again, pinning him. Claws and teeth surrounded his body as Marsac’s snow colored form appeared in front of him. Terror gripped his heart as Aramis stared into golden eyes.  Marsac shifted back to his human self and cracked his shoulders back into place.  His eyes stared down at Aramis, and his mouth pulled into a tight line.

“Aramis.” He shook his head. “Look at what you made me do.  Now you’re hurt.” He reached down to pet a scratch on the side of Aramis’s muzzle. The musketeer growled and snapped, and large paws squeezed down on his neck.  Marsac pulled his hand back despite the unimpressed look on his face.

“When I first saw you, Aramis, I knew we’d bond. Your human self didn’t feel it, but the Soul bond between us formed as soon as we went on our first mission together.” Aramis snuffed and would’ve rolled his eyes if he could. “I planned on asking you to turn for me when the time was right, but Savoy happened, and I had no choice but to turn you. I couldn’t lose you, not when I could do something about it.” Marsac sat beside his captive audience. “I hoped you would join me without the use of force. I do so hate to use my Alpha voice, especially on someone I’m so close to.  You must feel the bond as well now… the will to protect and serve the one you’re loyal to.”

“I never was loyal to you.” Aramis held his gaze, his eyes cold.  The wolf nagged in the back of his mind for control, and Aramis struggled to swallow it. Would he join Marsac through instinct? Would he kill any innocent bystanders until he returned to pack? Giving in was too risky at the moment, but he promised his wolf some free time depending on the direction of the conversation.

Marsac shook his head. “Tell me, what has Athos done that I have not?  We were friends before this, brothers even. Even if you weren’t a wolf, I accepted you into my pack with open paws.  I saved your life, Aramis. This alone should grant loyalty to me.” 

“You didn’t save me.  You turned me yes, but Athos was the one who trained me. He treated me as an equal, not someone who deserved loyalty because he was an Alpha.”

“But he won’t be an Alpha for long, will he?” Marsac’s eyes were sharp.  “With the Court Pack destroyed, I can bring Werewolf protection back to the Court. They’ll greet me with open arms, and we’ll turn them all into one of us.”

Aramis snarled. “They’d never accept you in the Court.”

“I’m not looking for acceptance. I’m looking for dominance.  A wolf born of impure blood cannot resist an Alpha’s roar.”  Marsac paused for a moment. “And once I have control of the Court Pack, Athos and his little rag tag team of misfits won’t stand a chance. We’ll grow into a force so strong, even the King-”

A familiar scent wove its way toward them. Aramis’s breath hitched in his throat. Oh God, please don’t let them walk into this; they’d never stand a chance. Marsac smelled the air as well, and his head turned toward the clearing. His lips pulled into a smirk.

“Last chance to come of your own will, Aramis.  If you do, I might let them live long enough to say good-bye.”

“You already know my answer.” Aramis’s pupils dilated.

Marsac grit his teeth together. “So be it.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athos knew if Aramis’s wolf took over, sending the psychic plea wouldn’t do much good, but trying didn’t hurt. For a moment, Aramis stilled, and Athos counted his lucky stars. Then Aramis’s head snapped up and gripped onto the leg of the wolf pinning his neck. The wolf let out a yelp and released enough pressure for Aramis to slip out of his grasp. Marsac turned around, calling out for his pack to stop, but another wolf already leapt on Aramis. Athos grabbed Porthos’s doublet, which pulled off the man’s shoulders and hung in Athos’s grip. Porthos shifted - still half clothed - and tackled the wolf on Aramis.
> 
> Well, so much for surprise. 
> 
>  
> 
> Or:  
> The boys take care of Marsac and his pack. Aramis tries to help Constance, and d'Artagnan asks an important question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really have much to say about this chapter, except we're halfway through. That's right, I've planned out the rest of the story, and we're in the middle.
> 
> If you see any mistakes, let me know. I finished it yesterday, so it's only been reviewed once. 
> 
> Word Count: 4,173

“I know you’re there boys. Come on out and make this easier on yourselves.”

Athos grabbed onto Porthos’s shoulder and dragged him back down. His eyes trained on Marsac through the leaves as he assessed the situation.  A quick glance around the clearing counted twelve other wolves; four to one didn’t sound like great odds, and their chances of winning decreased depending on Aramis’s condition.

“We can’t sit here and do nothing,” Porthos spoke.

“I never said we were.”

“Athos-“

“I’m thinking.” Athos’s eyes caught Aramis’s, which morphed into a too familiar gaze. His heart rate increased as Aramis eyed the wolf on top of him, his pupils already slit into the wolf’s eyes.

_Wait, Aramis. Give me time._

Athos knew if Aramis’s wolf took over, sending the psychic plea wouldn’t do much good, but trying didn’t hurt. For a moment, Aramis stilled, and Athos counted his lucky stars. Then Aramis’s head snapped up and gripped onto the leg of the wolf pinning his neck. The wolf let out a yelp and released enough pressure for Aramis to slip out of his grasp. Marsac turned around, calling out for his pack to stop, but another wolf already leapt on Aramis.  Athos grabbed Porthos’s doublet, which pulled off the man’s shoulders and hung in Athos’s grip.  Porthos shifted - still half clothed - and tackled the wolf on Aramis.

Well, so much for surprise.

A quick bite to the neck and Porthos left deep gashes in the other wolf’s throat. The mutt didn’t even have time to cry out before its howl gargled into silence. Aramis leapt to his paws in time to intercept a wolf bent on attacking Porthos’s left side. Athos undressed as quick as possible and shifted into his wolf. Porthos and Aramis brought down the other wolf together, one taking the wolf’s back flank and the other his neck. Two gray wolves leapt onto Porthos, gripping the scruff of his neck and left foreleg. Athos leapt on the one closest to him, and the two tumbled to the ground. Aramis bit into the second as another wolf snagged the musketeer’s tail and pulled back. He yelped and snapped at the beige wolf on his tail. Porthos rolled over, taking the wolf on his neck with him, and wrestled for an advantage. Porthos’s bite to the stomach kept the other wolf thrashing on the ground. Aramis managed to grab his attacker around the neck, spurting blood around his muzzle. Athos pinned the gray wolf between his paws and dodged a snap of its jaws. 

“STOP!”

The trees shook as Marsac roared into the air. Athos brought up his head and watched Marsac’s wolves cower into a low bow. It shook Porthos, though the larger wolf didn’t seem too fazed by it. His eyes whipped to Aramis, who hit the ground so fast he thought the wolf collapsed unconscious.  Marsac grimaced as he turned his head toward Athos.

“Well,” Marsac said as he took a step toward Athos. “I thought you were above primal instinct.” Athos curled his lip back, flashing teeth. Marsac stopped as he looked around the clearing. “And you did a number on my pack too. I may have to take up new recruits.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Athos watched Porthos stand over Aramis, his head lowered into a threatening position. Marsac turned his head as well and his eyes narrowed.  A snarl ripped through Porthos’s throat as he stared at Marsac. Athos read Porthos’s words through their pack’s psychic link and would’ve smiled if he were human.

“I’m sure what you said was threatening,” Marsac said as his head tilted to the side a bit, “but I don’t speak mongrel.”

Athos shifted back into his human form, his expression indifferent. If one looked in his eye, they would’ve turned to stone. “Perhaps I can help then. Get out of these woods and don’t return.”

“And if I don’t?” His challenge choked the conversation in the air. Athos heard Porthos speak comforting words to Aramis, and he took a step closer to his pack. The action didn’t go unnoticed, and Marsac curled his lips into a sneer. His voice sang into the air: “Oh, Aramis-“

Porthos leapt forward, aimed right for Marsac’s throat. Marsac shifted his nails into claws and lashed them across Porthos’s muzzle. It diverted the wolf from its normal target, and Marsac sidestepped. Porthos landed on his paws and turned. Four claw marks ran up the side of his face and over his nose. Athos stepped to take off into a run, and Marsac roared.

“Aramis, stop him!”

Athos turned in time to see russet fur lash forward. He opened his mouth to speak when jaws clamped into his shoulder. Aramis’s paw pressed into Athos’s chest, pushing the air from his lungs. He ripped his head back, his jaw dripping with Athos’s blood. Athos brought a hand up to try and knock Aramis away, but it only earned a growl from the younger wolf. Porthos charged forward, but Marsac tackled the wolf. In his human state, he wouldn’t be able to pin Porthos for long, but it gave enough time to deter the musketeer from his target. The two tumbled in the grass, and Marsac pushed himself to his hands and feet. Porthos stood as well and let out a growl. The other wolves around the clearing kept their eyes trained on Marsac, wanting to help but unable to break a direct order.

Athos cursed himself.

“Aramis, back off!” His voice vibrated through the trees, and the russet wolf retreated.

“Don’t listen to him. Attack!”

“No, Aramis. Stay.”

“I’m your Alpha. Do as I say.”

Porthos lashed toward Marsac once again. Marsac missed his opening, and Porthos caught onto the man’s arm. He drug Marsac down into the grass, and Marsac’s bone cracked beneath his jaws. Marsac cried out, and clawed his hand at Porthos’s muzzle to release him. Porthos’s grip increased with a snarl, and after clenching his jaws one last time, the bone snapped in half.

“Porthos, that’s enough.”

The black and brown wolf snapped its head back. _After all he’s done-_

“I know what he’s done. I understand what you’re feeling, but his isn’t the time.”

A quick glance around the clearing and Porthos found out why. Aramis looked between the two Alphas, his ears drawn back and eyes wide. His legs trembled as he squeezed his eyes shut, unsure of whom to listen to. 

Marsac wiggled under Porthos, and the wolf sent a glare into Marsac’s eyes: ‘open your mouth again and next time I’ll bite your neck.’ It silenced the Alpha, and he stared across the clearing. Even if Porthos didn’t command a pack, his pureblood status granted him strength, and Marsac knew he didn’t possess the muscle to challenge him. Porthos brought his attention to his two pack mates once again, giving an obedient head nod toward his Alpha. Athos sat up, his shoulder began to heal, and he reached out to stroke Aramis’s fur. The wolf retreated, its eyes snapping open, and whimpered.

Athos sucked in a breath as his heart sank. The fear in Aramis’s eyes reminded him why he refused to use the Alpha’s voice of submission.  He stood to his full height and backed up to stand beside Porthos.

“I’ll watch Marsac. You go,” he said.  Porthos turned his ear toward Athos but didn’t budge. Athos sighed; at least he acknowledged his Alpha spoke. “Porthos, Aramis isn’t himself now. You need to bring him back.” He paused a moment. “He needs you.”

Porthos whined as he lowered his head.  The large wolf ambled forward, his ears perked in a non-threatening position.  Aramis didn’t whimper as he did before, but he did take a step backward. Porthos stopped and sat in the grass, his golden eyes relaxed.

 _Aramis, it’s me._ He set his muzzle a little higher. _You can relax now. They’re not going to hurt you._

The wolf brought his head down and kept its golden orbs trained on Porthos. _I can’t… I must… they said-_

_Forget what they said; listen to me. No one is going to hurt you. You’re safe now, Aramis._

The wolf raised his head up a little higher. Its ears perked until they stood toward Porthos. _Safe._

 _Yes. You’re safe now._ Porthos’s tail shifted in the grass. He stood, his tail swishing behind him. The pureblood took a step forward, noting Aramis didn’t move, and sauntered over to the other. Aramis’s eyes remained locked onto his, and his body tensed. _Easy. I ain’t gonna hurt you. We’re Bonded, remember?_

It took a moment, but the muscles slacked in the wolf’s skin.  _Porthos._

 _Yeah, it’s just me._ His wolf form melted away as Porthos shifted into his human body.  He sat in the grass, still trained on Aramis’s eyes, and reached a hand forward. His fingertips stopped in front of Aramis’s muzzle, and his eyes asked for permission. The wolf brought his head forward and brushed its wet nose over the skin of Porthos’s hand. The latter smiled and stroked under Aramis’s jaw. The wolf brought itself closer, and Porthos’s hands roamed to its neck, massaging the skin beneath his finger. The two brought their foreheads together, and Porthos closed his eyes. He breathed in Aramis’s cinnamon and grape smell, and his body spiraled into a familiar natural high. Aramis’s fur to shed off his skin, and Porthos allowed his eyes to open.

“Well don’t say it like that,” Aramis said in his casual, teasing voice. His lips pulled into a room brightening smile. “’Just you’ is pretty important to me.”

Porthos embraced Aramis around his arms and rested his chin on the other’s shoulder. Aramis brought his forearms up as well to cradle the man’s waist and took in a breath. The fragrance of vanilla and sandalwood Aramis could only associate with his Bond mate brought him into the present with each inhalation.

Porthos’s breath tickled his neck. “I’m sorry.”

Aramis raised an eyebrow. “For what?”

Porthos brought his head back and leaned into his lips. Aramis’s eyes widened for a moment, but he didn’t draw away. As he let his brown eyes slip closed, he brought his fingers up to cradle Porthos’s jawline. Their scents intermixed, heart rates increased, and Aramis knew Porthos indulged in wine at some point before arriving. Porthos pulled back, his arms dropped down to Aramis’s waist, and he smiled. Aramis’s fingers trailed down to Porthos’s bare chest as Porthos spoke. “For making you wait.”

The grass shuffled behind Porthos, and two heads turned. Athos heaved Marsac to his feet, who kept his eyes trained on the two of them. His mouth set into a deep line as he clenched his jaw.

“You two are-“

“Bonded,” Aramis spoke. “Surprising, yeah?”  Porthos sniggered as he helped Aramis onto his feet. All humor on Aramis’s face melted away as he marched over toward Marsac. Athos increased his grip around the other Alpha’s shoulder, keeping him in place. He knew if Marsac had any sort of intelligence, he’d stay still. Porthos loomed behind Aramis as he crossed his arms over his chest. Marsac’s eyes glared and initiated a shudder through the Aramis’s skin, but the musketeer willed the feeling away.

Marsac curled his lip into a sneer. “It’s only a matter of time before you betray them too.”

“Let me make something clear,” Aramis brought his head closer and could feel Marsac’s breath against his face. “My pack means more to me than a flea bitten wolf like you could ever understand. You’re not my Alpha and never will be. I don’t owe you anything,” he paused, “but you are going to owe me everything.”

“How so?”

“Out of the goodness of my heart, we are going to let you live.” Porthos opened his mouth, but Aramis cut him off. “You will leave Paris, these woods, and never show your miserable faces around here again. If I find you or your pack within these woods, I will not hold them back.” He backed up into a dominant stance and growled. “Now go.”

Marsac grimaced and pulled his arm out of Athos’s grip. He took a step toward Aramis, but two growls – one from beside him and the other behind Aramis – stopped him in his tracks. He sucked in a breath and curled his lip back.

“I may leave these woods, but this is far from over.” The Alpha gave an roar to order his pack away, and Aramis covered his ears. Porthos wrapped his arms around Aramis’s chest and held him firm. The wolves retreated into the woods, and Marsac flashed his eyes over toward the musketeer pack. Athos’s eyes challenged him to stay, and his hands clenched into fists. Marsac snuffed before following his pack into the darkness of the woods.

Porthos released Aramis from his grip and leaned an arm on his shoulder. “Well, aren’t you intimidating.”

Aramis pressed into Porthos’s touch. “I’ve been waiting five years to confront him.”

“Satisfied?”

“Beyond imagination.” He took in a deep breath. “Though, I’m sorry to put you both through that.”

Athos shrugged. “Oh no, by all means, let’s let our testosterone run rampant.”

Aramis rolled his eyes at Athos’s comment. “It’s getting late. We should return home.”

“There’s one more thing we need you to tend to first.” Aramis raised an eyebrow as Athos continued. “Constance has been shot.”

“What happened?”

“Milady decided to get the jump on d’Artagnan at Constance’s house,” Porthos said.

“Then what are we standing around here for?” Aramis began charging away. Porthos grabbed his shoulder, and Aramis spun around.

“You’re going to walk into Paris looking like that?”

Aramis looked down and his cheeks tinged a bit. “Well… I have no idea where my clothes would be.”

Porthos cracked a smile. “And who always nitpicked when I forgot clothing during a full moon?”

“You try being chased by a pack of wolves and remembering where you threw your shirt.” His pout met a hearty laugh. Aramis tried to hide his smile, but failed and punched Porthos in the side. Porthos shoved him on the shoulder, knocking him off balance. Through a rather awkward assortment of flailing arms and spaghetti legs, Aramis retained his upright stance. “Easy now.”

“What, I kiss you once and you turn to putty?”

“I’ve had a rather stressful evening.”

“Well, excuse me for not taking it easy on you, Monsieur Demoiselle en Détresse.”

 _Gentlemen._ Athos shifted into his wolf’s silver form and stared at the two of them. _I’m sure Constance would appreciate if we hurry._ Porthos and Aramis shared expressions before shifting as well to follow their Alpha out of the woods.

* * *

 

d’Artagnan shed his shirt and placed it beside him. His forehead lined with sweat as a fever crept up into his cheeks. He rested his back against Constance’s bed and stared up at the ceiling. His damp hair clung to his neck and stuck to his forehead. Through the side of his eye, he peered over at Constance, who still slept on her stomach, no doubt as hot as he was, and breathing in staccato breaths.

d’Artagnan allowed his eyes to close as his vision blurred. The salve stopped sucking out whatever poison still remained in Constance’s body, and d’Artagnan’s supply lay scraped at the bottom of the bowl. Constance moaned behind him, and his eyes flew open. He chewed at his lips; his bond tugged at his heart. d’Artagnan placed a hand in hers and squeezed, and her face relaxed into sleep.

“I’m here, Constance,” he said, his voice hushed. “Nothing will hurt you.”

‘I don’t want protection’ he heard echo in his head, and he smiled at the memory.  He loved the way her body straightened when she argued, or how she spoke exactly what plagued her mind. Her words followed the execution, sometimes non-verbally communicated, and he knew he could trust her to follow through with anything.

His thumb rubbed back and forth over her wrist. He remembered the way his mother soothed him while he was sick, but the words were long lost to him. Instead, he settled for humming along with the melody. Constance’s breathing evened out as he relaxed along with her, the music soothing his own nerves as well. He let his eyes close as his head rested on the mattress, and his eyes once again closed.

Footsteps along the ground outside perked his head back up, and he looked over toward the door. A protective growl ripped through his throat, and he shuffled into a standing position. If Milady came back to finish what she started, she would have to pry Constance from his dead-

 _d’Artagnan, you can stop growling._ Athos called from the other side of the door. _It’s us._

d’Artagnan’s lips relaxed. “Well come in then. The door’s unlocked.”

_Oh yes. Let’s run around stark naked, shall we?_

_We’d frighten the neighbors if we did._

_You mean she hasn’t seen you naked yet?_

_Honestly, Porthos, I don’t sleep with every woman in Paris._

Athos let out a short, low growl. _d’Artagnan, please open the door before I scratch it down._

d’Artagnan stood and walked over to the door. His eyes peered down to look at the three wolves at the door. Athos pushed his way inside the door, his white fur stained with contrasting blood, and shifted to gather clothing in his closet. Aramis came in next with Porthos behind them. While d’Artagnan couldn’t see blood on their dark fur, the scent protruded from their bodies.

“What happened?”

“Aramis happened.” Athos’s voice muffled as he pulled his shirt over his head.

Aramis finished shifting and snuffed. “Hey, I’m not _that_ bad.”

“I was looking forward to a peaceful evening.”

“You mean a dinner for two with you and your wine?”

Athos sent him a glare and whipped a shirt at Aramis. It slapped onto his face, and the musketeer tumbled backward into the door, slamming it closed behind him. Porthos shifted beside Aramis and tried to maintain a straight face, and d’Artagnan assumed Athos’s face curled into what he called a smile.

“Oh yes, let’s pick on Aramis tonight,” he said in a low voice, though his face held a smile. He slid the shirt over his head and caught the pair of pants Athos threw his way. As soon as he wore the required materials, he made his way over toward Constance and peeled off the bandages.  His face winced as he saw the blue and purple splotches. “How long ago was she shot?”

“Since midday,” d’Artagnan said and walked back to Constance’s side.

“Did you pull out the bullet?”

“As soon as we got here, maybe a half hour after she was shot.”

“Good. Have you gone numb at all?”

“My whole left arm.”

“What do you need, Aramis?” Porthos asked after getting dressed himself.

Aramis muttered under his breath and chewed at his lip. “It’s not like Wolfsbane. He told me there’s no cure for it.” He took in a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. “The damage to her skin is already done, and her body is trying to heal itself. Her half human blood has kept her alive so far. All we can do now is…” His voice trailed off as he looked over at d’Artagnan.

“She’s strong,” d’Artagnan said, his voice barely audible. “She’ll make it through this.”

Aramis patted a hand on his shoulder and turned his attention to Porthos. Porthos nodded and wrapped an arm around Athos’s shoulder.

“Come on, Athos. We’ll go get some wine and relax like you wanted, yeah?” Athos raised an eyebrow but knew better to decline such an offer.

“You’re buying.”

“Of course. You-“

“If you make a reference about courting me, I’ll shove a bottle so far up your ass you’ll smell wine in your nose.”

Porthos’s laughter could be heard after they shut the door, and Aramis couldn’t help but shake his head with a smile. He rubbed his neck and sat back in a chair.  d’Artagnan’s attention turned back to rubbing Constance’s hand as he laid his left arm on the bed and rested his cheek on his forearm. Aramis would’ve made a comment about d’Artagnan’s arm going numb, but he figured it wouldn’t matter at this point.

“Is she in any pain?”

“She’s hot, bothered, and yes, her shoulder is in a lot of pain.”

“On a scale from one to ten-“

“Intense.”

Aramis stood and strode to the other side of the bed, and d’Artagnan’s eyes followed the musketeer’s body. Aramis pulled the bandage off her wound and placed a hand over it. d’Artagnan gasped as pain shot through both his and Constance’s face. He let out a growl and leapt to his feet.  Before he could utter a sentence, his eyes drifted to Aramis’s arm.  His hand and forearm lit up with blue veins, and Aramis gritted his teeth.

d’Artagnan tried not to sound aggravated. “What are you doing?”

Aramis’s eyes didn’t look at d’Artagnan until the lines retreated into his skin. “Absorbing some of the pain from her. I may not be able to take away the silver’s fever, but at least I can alleviate it.”

“Why didn’t you do it in the first place?” Aramis raised an eyebrow, and d’Artagnan’s brain formed the answer on his own. “Have werewolves always been able to do that?”

“Only certain bloodlines can perform it.  Athos and Porthos don’t have the gene.”

“So… bitten wolves?”

“Not exactly.” d’Artagnan furrowed his brows, and Aramis continued. “The Alpha that bit me came from a long line of healers.  While most wolves can sense when another’s in pain, these wolves could absorb it from their skin.  It lasts an hour at most, and it can be rather dangerous depending on how much we absorb, but the rewards are brilliant.”

“And you can do it because his blood is now in you, right? Do they know you can do this?”

“Yes, but they don’t like me using it.  And I try not to unless it’s an emergency.” He walked over to collapse rather ungracefully in the chair from before.  His head leaned back in the chair and he stared up at the ceiling. “You’re lucky to be Bonded to her.”

d’Artagnan allowed a pause between the two of them. “Aramis.” The other hummed without opening his eyes. “When we Bond, do we fall in love with them?”

Aramis cracked open an eye. “Sometimes.” He grinned. “Why?”

“Because other times I’ve fell in love, I’ve wanted to take it further. I feel everything around Constance I felt for past lovers, but I don’t want to-“

“Sleep with her?”

d’Artagnan blushed. “I always believed her marital status held me back, but I know she’s not happy with Bonacieux, and I’m not sure why I don’t feel something stronger for her.”

“It’s a common feeling between two Bond mates.” He sat up in his chair, rejuvenated. “Bond mates form a deep, spiritual connection, as you know. And I believe that’s what love is in its purest form. Sure, anyone can make love to another, but it takes a special commitment to truly love someone.”

“Is it the same with you and Porthos?” Aramis sucked in a breath as his face froze in shock. “I’m not judging. It’s not like you can control it.”

“Yes, and it can be a scary feeling.  Just know she feels the same thing, and you won’t be rejected for it.”

d’Artagnan turned back to Constance. “When she wakes, I’m going to tell her.”

“I’m sure she already knows.”

“But hearing it is different.”

Aramis smiled and let himself relax on the chair once again, taking in a deep breath. “Think you can hold the fort for a while?”

“If I need anything, I’ll wake you.”  Aramis didn’t acknowledge d’Artagnan spoke, but the lad knew the musketeer heard him. He turned his attention back to Constance and gave her a kiss on the forehead.

* * *

 

Athos took a long drink of his wine and scanned the tavern around them. Porthos kept a casual conversation going with the barmaid, and if the musketeer wasn’t infatuated with Aramis, Athos would’ve assumed Porthos planned on courting her.  The room housed empty chairs and tables, most of them washed and tucked away for the night. Athos sighed and ran a hand through his hair. It wouldn’t be the first time he closed up a tavern.

Porthos ended his conversation and rose to his feet. He placed his hat on his head and Athos followed suit. The barmaid gave Porthos a wink, and he smiled respectively, but didn’t act any further. The two exited the tavern, and a middle sized man plowed into Athos’s side. He staggered to catch his balance and bumped into Porthos, who didn’t budge an inch.  The man wore the musketeer uniform, but the dull light made it hard to see who wore it.

“Where’s the fire?” Porthos questioned.

“It’s the king. There’s been a strange attack.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Athos?” His expression morphed from confusion to worry. Athos cleared his throat, shaking the memory from his mind.
> 
> “We’ve done it before. We can do it again.” He turned an eye up toward Porthos. The latter musketeer shook his head with a sigh through his nose. “I dislike the idea as much as you, but if it has to be done.”
> 
> “We’ve haven’t faced a threat this so close to the crown before. All those other times, it wouldn’t matter if we shifted or not.”
> 
> It was Athos’s turn to shake his head. “People are not ready for the truth.”
> 
> “Athos-“
> 
> You’ve grown up in a place which accepts your kind as you are.” Athos’s expression twisted into a scowl. “People are not as understanding outside of the Court. I’ve seen packs, good people who would not hurt anyone, hunted and slaughtered because of what they are. These people will be no different.”
> 
>  
> 
> Or:  
> Porthos and Athos try to do damage control after a werewolf attack on the crown. Tréville feels as if his boys are hiding something important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note, this story is on hiatus for the moment. Reason being: I am rewriting the plot of the story. The original plot was boring and cliche, and I'd rather give my readers a creative and new experience than a finished lackluster novel. I hope you'll understand. 
> 
> Word count: 3,270

Musketeers and Red Guards littered the area surrounding the castle. Athos raised his nose and took a sample of the air. After glancing at Porthos, who echoed his Alpha’s actions, he knew they arrived at the same conclusion. Tréville spoke to a few guards by the entryway to the castle grounds before turning his attention toward the two of them.  His face ignited with both worry and anger.

“Where have you two been?”

“Personal matters,” Athos said, but he knew Tréville could smell the wine on their breaths. He gave a curt hum before speaking again.

“Have you heard the news?”

“Something about a strange attack.”

Tréville nodded and lead the two of them inside. Athos noted the claw marks on the palace gates as well as the fresh blood spilled on the ground. Porthos crinkled his nose to the left as they stepped over two fallen guards like broken logs thrown in their paths.  Several other members of the castle explained what they saw to musketeers investigating the scene. Athos heard the phrases ‘huge dog, ‘queen’s maid is dead’, and ‘it spoke like a demon’ hover through the air. Two servants lay huddled in a corner with a rosary in one hand and saying the Lord’s Prayer together. 

Their travels took them to the throne room, where King Louis paced back and forth, shouting at the Cardinal.

“Those monsters could’ve killed her! I want guards with her every day.”

“Of course.”

“No, not your guards. If it weren’t for your guards, we wouldn’t even be in this mess.” The Cardinal grimaced as Louis turned his attention to the musketeers entering the room. “Finally, someone who knows what they’re doing around here.”

Tréville cast a look at the Cardinal before speaking. “My men would be honored to protect the Queen.” Athos caught Porthos’s body stiffen as Tréville mentioned protecting Queen Anne, and the same thought ran through his head.

“Excellent.” Louis shooed them away with the back of his right hand. “Get on with it. Every moment she’s alone is a moment I fear for her safety.”

The three men bowed and walked out of the room. As the doors shut behind them, Tréville turned and gave them a look over. “You boys watch the queen while we wrap up the investigation.”

“What exactly happened here?” Athos asked.

Tréville looked to the side before turning back. “I’m not sure. It seems to be some sort of animal attack, but they weren’t like any animals they’ve ever seen before.  That’s all I know so far.”  He placed a hand on Athos’s shoulder before speaking. “Keep on the lookout. Whatever attacked may still be in the castle.”

The two musketeers nodded as their captain walked away. Porthos relaxed his stance and turned a head to Athos. “Smells like the scent from the woods.”

Athos nodded and the two made their way toward the queen’s chambers. Bloody paw prints lined the floor, and there were some drag marks leading through the closed chamber doors. Athos knocked twice with the back of his hand before he heard shuffling on the other side. The door creaked open, and a petite face peeked through the crack.

“I am Athos, and this is Porthos. We were sent by Captain Tréville to watch over the Queen.”

The woman nodded and opened the door further. As the two entered the room, the heavy scent of Alpha pheromones lined the air. Feathers and busted pillows lay scattered around the room as if a molting bird flew loose in the room. Maids scampered about trying to clean up the mess, while others surrounded the Queen herself. Athos took in another breath of air before glancing down at the ground.

“I know the scent is familiar.  It’s definitely an Alpha, but it’s not Marsac’s.”

“Flea said the rogue pack out in the woods had five Alphas. This could’ve been any one of them.”

“If it is the rogue pack-“

“Gentlemen,” the queen said as she stood. She walked over to them, her steps muffled by the array of feathers. Her voice held a shaken tone to it, and her hair was in a messy bun behind her head. No doubt the poor woman had tried to go to sleep when the strange accident occurred.  “Are you my Musketeers?”

“Yes,” Athos said.

Porthos dipped his head in agreement. “Your Majesty, what exactly happened?”

“The Queen has had a rough night and already explained this story to your colleagues,” a woman who looked well into her old age said with her hands on her hips. “She-“

“It’s alright.  They only wish to help.” The Queen smiled at the woman before rubbing her arms with her hands. “I remember one of my ladies screaming, and I wanted to investigate. When I opened the door, this… thing came in.  It looked like a demon dog with glowing yellow eyes.  I feared I stared at the devil himself.” She shuddered as the memory materialized from her lips. “It tried to attack me, but I hid in my wardrobe. I could hear it growling and clawing at the door.  I thought-“ Tears lined her eyes, and Athos shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“It’s alright, your Majesty. You don’t have to continue if it makes you uncomfortable.”

She nodded her head. “Thank you.”

“Why don’t you get some rest? We’ll keep watch,” Porthos said and forced his lips to smile. She nodded again and slipped off towards her bed with her ladies following behind her.  Athos leaned against the door and sighed.

Porthos shook his head. “This could get rather messy.  What if we have to-“

“It won’t come to that.”

“Athos-“

“You know we can’t.”

Porthos pursed his lips. “How then? How are we going to protect them if we can’t fight?” His question met silence as Athos examined the blood on the floor. His fingers came back wet, and he rubbed the blood between his thumb and index finger. His eyes lost themselves in memory for a moment, the same words uttered to him several years ago. He sighed and stood up, his gaze not meeting Porthos’s.  He could hear the fire roaring outside; the smell of smoke filled his nostrils. If this was her work – no, her scent came nowhere near this smell. Still, if she lead the attack, it would have the same style but a different outcome. Porthos’ hand on Athos’s shoulder shook him from the memory.

“Athos?” His expression morphed from confusion to worry. Athos cleared his throat, shaking the memory from his mind.

“We’ve done it before. We can do it again.” He turned an eye up toward Porthos. The latter musketeer shook his head with a sigh through his nose. “I dislike the idea as much as you, but if it has to be done.”

“We’ve haven’t faced a threat this so close to the crown before.  All those other times, it wouldn’t matter if we shifted or not.”

It was Athos’s turn to shake his head. “People are not ready for the truth.”

“Athos-“

You’ve grown up in a place which accepts your kind as you are.” Athos’s expression twisted into a scowl. “People are not as understanding outside of the Court. I’ve seen packs, good people who would not hurt anyone, hunted and slaughtered because of what they are. These people will be no different.”

“You don’t know that.”

Athos could hear the screams in his head. He smelled the burning flesh in the air as he tried his best to protect his family. His body shuddered as the memory came to a scream, the dead body of his pack’s Alpha, and a malicious smile that rivaled the devil’s own grin.

“I do.” Athos’s expression melted into a more somber look. Porthos wanted to continue, but Athos’s designated look stopped the words on his tongue. The back of his mind urged him to leave the issue be, and he turned away.

“If you say keep it a secret, I will. I trust you.” Porthos took a deep breath through his nose and exhaled. “I hope you know what you’re doing.” He shook his head before exiting the room and leaning against the wall by the door. Athos turned back to the blood staining the floor and brought the crimson liquid to his nose. Never again would he allow this scent to penetrate the castle walls.

* * *

 

By the next day, the streets of Paris buzzed about the strange animals they saw parading through the streets of Paris. Aramis did his best to look casual walking through the streets, though he knew a few people watched him. He kept reminding himself they knew nothing about the pack’s secret, and it wasn’t his pack the civilians gossiped about. None of Paris knew werewolves as anything but a legend, save for the Court of Miracles. However, in the back of his mind, he feared the truth would be drug out some day one way or another.

A hand grabbed onto his, and he turned around to find a familiar feminine face.

“Catherine,” he said as he adjusted his hat.

“It’s good to see you unharmed,” she said and wrapped her arms around him.  “I worried your friends would not find you.” He patted the middle of her back and smiled. She took a step away and scanned the streets. “Awful rumors buzzing about. Do you believe it to be true?”

“The demons?” He said and shook his head. “No, it was probably a glorified wild dog attack.”

“Is this why you’re not at the palace with your friends?”

He furrowed his brow. “No, I’m taking care of someone in my family.”

“Oh.” Her smile faltered. “Are they ill?”

“Just a minor injury. Nothing too serious though.”

“Good, because I’d hate for duty to get in the way of protecting her family.” She gave a chaste kiss to his cheek before walking back toward her home. Aramis’s stomach twisted into knots as he hastened toward the castle. He knew d’Artagnan would keep a watchful eye over Constance, and he need not worry. His thoughts buzzed about in his head, and he allowed his instinct lead him through the streets and toward his destination. At least this explained why Athos and Porthos didn’t returned last night. But why didn’t they come to get him? When did the attack take place, and who lead the attack on the palace? If a werewolf did attack, why would they attack the King and Queen? More questions circled about in his mind, and he found the walk to the castle quicker than normal.

The air reeked of death and blood, and Aramis wrinkled his nose to the left.  Something lingered in the air around him, but it dissipated too much since the initial attack for him to make heads or tails of it.

“Aramis.”

The musketeer turned and saw Athos and Porthos walking toward him. Both their eyes were rather red, and their posture slacked. Aramis tilted his head a bit as his eyebrows rose to his hairline. “You two look like you’ve been up all night.”

“Well, we weren’t having a party,” Athos said.

Porthos stifled a yawn and nodded. “Is Constance any better?”

“Her fever hasn’t broken yet, but she hasn’t gotten any worse. d’Artagnan is still watching over her.”

A bit of a silence passed between them before Athos spoke. “Aramis, you have seen the pack in the woods.” The mentioned musketeer flinched at the memory. “Do you recognize the scent?”

“Not here. It’s too dispersed.”

“It’s stronger as you go toward the Queen’s chambers.” Athos turned to walk away before Aramis could comment on the subject. Porthos wrapped an arm around his mate’s shoulders and clued him in on what happened as they walked through the halls. The scent intensified the farter they walked, and Aramis knew he smelled the scent hovering in the air before. His nose twitched about as he picked up the fragrance of rose petals and cherries.

“I know the smell,” he said as he took another deep breath. “but I can’t place it.”

“Is it from the pack in the woods?” Athos stopped in his tracks when Aramis didn’t respond.

“I’m not sure.”

Porthos piped up. “Do you think it’s a scent from within Paris?”

Aramis furrowed his brows before taking another deep breath. “Definitely one I smelled on the streets this morning. But perhaps my memory is playing tricks on me.”

Athos quirked an eyebrow. By the look on Aramis’s face, he had an inkling of who the scent belonged to, but he didn’t wish to say. “If you’re hiding something-“

“Trust me, I remember the last time I hid something on you. I didn’t get very far.  I still have the bruise on my ribs to prove it.”

“I didn’t kick you that hard.”

“You cracked on of my ribs.”

“You deserved it.”

Porthos chuckled and wrapped his arms around both of their shoulders. “Let’s agree not to withhold any information from each other, yeah?”  His attention shifted from one to the other, and judging from the look Aramis sent him, only Athos caught onto what the other musketeer referred to.

“Sounds good to me,” Aramis said and looked over at Athos, who gave a quick nod of agreement. Porthos released Athos’s shoulder but traded his grip over Aramis’s shoulder blades for his waist.

“I don’t plan on leaving the castle unguarded for too long,” Athos spoke. “If those wolves do try to come back, the guards won’t be ready for them.  They’ll come back stronger than before.”

Porthos nodded in agreement. “What I don’t understand is why they didn’t have the whole pack attack the castle at once.”

“Perhaps it had something to do with the incident last night,” Athos said, and both heads turned toward Aramis.

“What? Marsac didn’t tell me anything about an attack on the castle.”

“But it could’ve been a distraction.”

Aramis furrowed his brow and opened his mouth to speak when a man cleared his throat behind them. The three turned in unison to see a younger musketeer staring up at the three of them.

“Captain Tréville wants to speak to you,” he said.  The three musketeers exchanged expressions before giving a swift ‘thank you’ and marching off together.

“What was that about not leaving the castle guarded?” Porthos said under his breath.

“They’d be foolish to attack during the day. They know at night, when our visibility is much better than a human’s, is the best time to strike, or they would’ve done so already.”

Porthos nodded in agreement while Aramis shifted a bit closer to him. Athos watched the interaction before turning his head back toward the road in front of them. It would only be a moment, he convinced himself, then they’d get back to work on protecting the crown. 

* * *

 

Tréville poked about his cabinet when the three entered his office. He didn’t turn to face them for some time, and he pulled out a parchment before examining it.  Athos shifted his weight from one food to the other before clearing his throat.  Tréville paused, folded up the paper, and placed it back amongst the other parchments. 

“Did anything attack while you were on duty last night?” he asked.

“No,” Athos said. “Nothing came in or out.”

“Any news come about?”

“Nothing that hasn’t already materialized.”

Tréville nodded his head and looked down at his desk, inspecting something invisible. “Do you boys mind telling me what is going on?”

“Sir?” Porthos said as he furrowed his brows.

Tréville turned his eye back towards them, his lips drawn into a fine line. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed something strange going on in the past few weeks.  I see the way you three have been behaving since d’Artagnan has entered your little group.”

“There’s nothing wrong with new companionship.” Athos quirked an eyebrow.

“Of course not.” Tréville adjusted his torso a bit higher. “But it’s what he brings that concerns me. The three of you knew absolutely nothing about him when he joined your trio. I know you three well enough to know you don’t play well with others.” Aramis flashed a smile and glance of accomplishment to Porthos, who smiled back. Athos shook his head as he remembered the last time Tréville tried to pair them with another musketeer. “Whatever you three – four are up to, I want to know about it.”

“Perhaps we’re trying to be friendlier,” Athos pulled his lips into a line.

Tréville’s eyebrows rose toward his hairline as he let out an exasperated groan. “What do you three know about the strange animal attacks in the woods?” Aramis’s smile melted away as Porthos swayed from holding his weight on one foot to the other. Athos opened his mouth to speak, but Tréville interrupted. “Don’t even begin to tell me you three don’t know. You sneak off there more times than I can count.”

“We like camping,” Porthos spoke.

“You like camping in an area filled with dead bodies?” Tréville crossed his arms. “We had a scouting party in the woods after a strange animal attack a week back.” Athos counted backwards through the week until he hit the day after the full moon. Tréville’s lips tightened into a wide grimace. “Women, children, men lay slaughtered on the ground. We couldn’t even identify some of the bodies.  I haven’t seen an attack like it since-“ His words trailed off and he cleared his throat. “It looked like the same style of attack that hit the castle last night.”

“We are investigating,” Athos said. “We shall let you know if anything comes up.”

“Please see that you do.” Tréville nodded his head and reached under his desk. “Oh, and I thought Aramis might like this back.” He produced a pistol with fancy embroidery on the side of it. His eyes met Aramis’s, and for a moment, Aramis’s color drained from his face. He took a few steps forward and grabbed onto the weapon with calculated movements. Tréville gave a bit of a smile, which didn’t do any less to unnerve Aramis, but he smiled back anyway.  After returning to Porthos’s side, Tréville dismissed the three of them.

“He knows, Athos. We have to come clean.”

“Porthos, we discussed this.” Athos sent him a glare over his shoulder.

“Tréville is different. He’ll understand.”

Athos’s heart clenched.  He wanted to believe Tréville would not shun them for their inner demons. He wished he could confide in the man and take some of the pressure off his shoulders. However, he knew, deep in his heart, humans wouldn’t understand their existence, and therefore never come to realize werewolves only wished to melt into society and be one of them. To be human.  But he knew the risks of revealing their identity far more than Porthos and Aramis would ever understand, and he intended to shield the two from such an experience.

“Until it becomes unavoidable, we keep this a secret.” His voice carried a final tone to it, and he marched down the stairs. He heard Porthos growl behind him, but didn’t turn to acknowledge it.  He knew Porthos was such a loyal person he hated keeping secrets from those he considered close, but this remained far from an arguable matter, and Athos refused to budge from his point of view.

“Leave him be,” he heard Aramis say to Porthos. “If he doesn’t wish to tell Tréville, there has to be a reason.” 

Athos mentally thanked Aramis and walked back toward his quarters. If he was to survive this endeavor, he needed a strong drink first.


End file.
